THE  HOUSE'ROUN 
•  THE  CORNER 


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THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE 
CORNER 

By  GORDON  HOLMES 

A  man  who  calls  himself 
Armathwaite  arrives  at  Nut- 
tonby  on  market  day,  hires 
the  old  stone  grange  house  at 
Elmdale  and  moves  in  at  once. 

From  the  moment  of  Ar- 
mathwaite's  occupation,  mys- 
tery begins  to  clear  itself  from 
Elmdale.  A  ghost  ceases  to 
walk,  a  wrong  name  is  taken 
from  the  stone  at  a  suicide's 
grave,  a  rightful  owner  comes 
out  of  concealment  to  claim 
his  own.  Best  of  all,  fresh 
romance  brightens  what  has 
been  for  years  a  cold  and  for- 
bidding hearthstone. 

So  Mr.  Holmes  rounds  out 
happily  a  mystery  tale  of  a 
new  and,  for  those  who  de- 
light in  such  a  tale,  a  highly 
satisfactory  sort. 


THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 


THE  HOUSE  'ROUND 
THE  CORNER 

BY 

GORDON    HOLMES 


AUTHOR   OF 

A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE, 
THE  ARNCLIFFE  PUZZLE,  ETC. 


NEW     YORK 

GROSSET    &    PUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY 
EDWARD   J.    CLODS 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATUS  OF  AMKBIOA 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    WHEREIN  THE  HOUSE  RECEIVES  A 

NEW  TENANT 1 

II.     SHOWING   How   EVEN   A   HOUSE 

MAY  HAVE  A  WAY  OF  ITS  OWN  21 

III.  A  MIDNIGHT  SEANCE      ...  42 

IV.  SHOWING  How  EXPLANATIONS  Do 

NOT   ALWAYS  EXPLAIN      .      .  63 

V.     GATHERING  CLOUDS    ....  84 

VI.     THE  STORM  BREAKS        .      .      .  106 

VII.    A  FAINT-HEARTED  ALLY  .      .      .  127 
VEIL    WHEREIN      PERCY      WHITTAKER 
PROVES    HIMSELF    A    MAN    OP 

ACTION 147 

IX.     SHOWING   THE    REAL    STRENGTH 

OF  AN  ILLUSION       .      .      .  "    .  167 

X.    ARMATHWAITE  STATES  A  CASE.     .  185 

XI.    PREPARATIONS  FOR  BATTLE    .      .  206 

XII.     THE  DAWN  OF  A  BLACK  FRIDAY    .  226 

XIII.  DEUS  EX  MACHINA      ....  246 

XIV.  IN  WHICH  THE  AREA  WIDENS      .  267 
XV.     THE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST  287 


2136047 


CHAPTER  I 

WHEREIN  THE  HOUSE  RECEIVES  A  NEW  TENANT 

THE  train  had  panted  twelve  miles  up  a 
sinuous  valley,  halting  at  three  tiny  sta- 
tions on  the  way;  it  dwelt  so  long  at  the 
fourth  that  the  occupant  of  a  first-class  car- 
riage raised  his  eyes  from  the  book  he  was 
reading.  He  found  the  platform  packed  with 
country  folk,  all  heading  in  the  same  direc- 
tion. Hitherto,  this  heedless  traveller  had 
been  aware  of  some  station-master  or  porter 
bawling  an  unintelligible  name;  now,  his  fel- 
low-passengers seemed  to  know  what  place 
this  was  without  being  told;  moreover,  they 
seemed  to  be  alighting  there. 

A  porter,  whose  face,  hands,  and  clothing  were 
of  one  harmonious  tint,  suggesting  that  he  had 
been  dipped  bodily  in  some  brownish  dye,  and 
then  left  to  dry  in  the  sun,  opened  the  door. 

"  Aren't  you  gettin'  out,  sir?  "  he  inquired, 
and  his  tone  implied  both  surprise  and  pain. 

"  Is  this  Nuttonby?  "  said  the  passenger. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Why  this  crush  of  traffic?  " 

"It's  market  day,  sir." 

"  Thanks.  I  didn't  expect  to  see  such  a 
1 


2  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

crowd.  Have  you  a  parcels  office,  where  I  can 
leave  some  baggage?  ' 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Hang  on  to  this  bag,  then.  There  are 
three  boxes  in  the  van.  You'll  need  a  barrow — 
they're  heavy!  ): 

By  this  time,  the  man  who  knew  so  little  of 
important  Nuttonby — which  held  3,005  inhabi- 
tants in  the  1911  census,  having  increased  by 
two  since  1901 — had  risen,  and  was  collecting  a 
fisherman's  outfit,  and  some  odds  and  ends  of 
personal  belongings.  He  followed  the  porter, 
who,  on  eyeing  the  rods  and  pannier,  and  with 
some  knowledge  of  "  county  "  manners,  had 
accepted  the  stranger  as  entitled  to  hold  a  first- 
class  ticket.  Sure  enough,  the  boxes  were 
heavy.  The  guard  had  to  assist  in  handling 
them. 

"  By  gum!  "  said  the  porter,  when  he  tried 
to  lift  the  first  on  to  a  trolley. 

"  Books,"  explained  the  traveler. 

"  I  thought  mebbe  they  wuz  lead,"  said  the 
porter. 

"  Some  books  have  that  quality,"  said  the 
other. 

The  guard,  a  reader  in  his  spare  time,  smiled. 
The  owner  of  so  much  solid  literature  seized  a 
stout  leather  handle. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  hand,"  he  said,  and  the 
porter  soon  added  to  his  slight  store  of  facts 


A  NEW  TENANT  3 

concerning  the  newcomer.  This  tall,  sparsely- 
built  man  in  tweeds  and  a  deer-stalker  cap  was 
no  weakling. 

The  platform  was  nearly  empty  when  the 
porter  began  to  trundle  the  loaded  trolley  along 
its  length.  A  pert  youth  appeared  from  no- 
where, and  cried  * '  Ticket !  ' '  firmly,  almost 
threateningly.  He  was  given  a  first-class  ticket 
from  York,  and  a  receipt  for  excess  luggage. 
The  bit  of  white  paste-board  startled  him. 
"  Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said.  First-class  pass- 
engers were  rare  birds  at  Nuttonby;  too  late, 
he  knew  he  ought  to  have  said  "  Ticket, 
please!" 

The  same  pert  youth,  appearing  again  from 
nowhere,  officiated  in  the  parcels  office.  He 
noticed  that  none  of  the  articles  bore  a  name  or 
initials;  they  were  brand-new;  their  only  rail- 
way labels  were  "  York,  from  King's  Cross," 
and  *  *  Nuttonby,  from  York. ' ' 

"  Book  the  bag  and  these  small  articles 
separately,"  he  was  instructed.  "  I  may  want 
them  soon.  The  boxes  may  be  sent  for  this 
afternoon;  I  don't  know  yet."  He  turned  to 
the  porter:  "  Is  there  a  house  agent  in  the 
town?" 

"  Yes,  sir — two." 

"  Which  is  the  better — the  man  with  the 
larger  clientele — sorry,  I  mean  with  the  greater 
number  of  houses  on  his  books?" 


4  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

11  Well,  sir,  Walker  an'  Son  have  bin  in  busi- 
ness here  fifty  year  an'  more." 

1 1  I  '11  try  Walker.    Where 's  his  place  ! ' ' 
"  Next  door  the  *  Eed  Lion,'  sir." 
Then  the  youth,  anxious  to  atone,  and  rather 
quicker-witted  than  the  brown-hued  one,  got  in 
a  word. 

11  The  '  Bed  Lion  '  is  halfway  up  the  main 
street,  sir.  Turn  to  your  right  when  you  leave 
here,  an'  you're  there  in  two  minutes." 

"  I'll  show  the  gentleman,"  said  the  porter, 
who  had  decided  a  month  ago  that  this  blooming 
kid  was  putting  on  airs.  He  was  as  good  as 
his  word — or  nearly  so.  A  tip  of  half  a  crown 
was  stupefying,  but  he  gathered  his  wits  in 
time  to  say  brokenly  at  the  exit : 

"  Wu- Wu- Walker 's  is  straight  up,  sir." 
Straight  up  the  stranger  went.  The  wide 
street  was  crammed  with  stalls,  farmers'  carts, 
carriers'  carts,  dog-carts,  even  a  couple  of 
automobiles,  for  Wednesday,  being  market  day, 
was  also  police-court  day  and  Board  of  Guar- 
dians day.  He  passed  unheeded.  On  Wednes- 
days, Nuttonby  was  a  metropolis ;  on  any  other 
day  in  the  week  he  would  have  drawn  dozens  of 
curious  eyes,  peeping  surreptitiously  over  short 
curtains,  or  more  candidly  in  the  open.  Of 
course,  he  was  seen  by  many,  since  Nuttonby 
was  not  so  metropolitan  that  it  failed  to  detect 
a  new  face,  even  on  Wednesdays ;  but  his  style 


A  NEW  TENANT  5 

and  appearance  were  of  the  gentry;  Nuttonby 
decided  that  he  had  strayed  in  from  some 
"  big  "  house  in  the  district. 

Walker  &  Son,  it  would  seem,  were  auction- 
eers, land  valuers,  and  probate  estimators  as 
well  as  house  agents.  Their  office  was  small, 
but  not  retiring.  It  displayed  a  well-developed 
rash  of  sale  posters,  inside  and  out.  One,  in 
particular,  was  heroic  in  size.  It  told  of  a 
"  spacious  mansion,  with  well-timbered  park," 
having  been  put  up  for  auction — five  years 
earlier.  Whiteness  of  paper  and  blackness  of 
type  suggested  that  Walker  &  Son  periodically 
renewed  this  aristocrat  among  auction  an- 
nouncements— perhaps  to  kindle  a  selling  spirit 
among  the  landed  gentry,  a  notoriously  con- 
servative and  hold-tight  class. 

A  young  man,  seated  behind  a  counter,  read- 
ing a  sporting  newspaper,  and  smoking  a 
cigarette,  rose  hastily  when  the  caller  entered. 

' '  Yes,  sir, ' '  he  said,  thereby  implying  instant 
readiness  to  engage  in  one  or  all  of  th«  firm's 
activities. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Walker?"  said  the  newcomer. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

11  Ah!    I  thought  you  might  be  the  son." 

"  Well,  I  am,  if  it  comes  to  that.  Do  you 
want  my  father!" 

Walker,  junior,  was  a  Nuttonby  "  nut  " — a 
sharp  young  blade  who  did  not  tolerate  chaff. 


6  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

11  I  want  to  rent  a  furnished  house  in  or  near 
a  quiet  country  village,  where  there  is  some 
good  fishing,"  was  the  answer.  "  Now,  you 
can  determine  whether  I  should  trouble  Mr. 
Walker,  senior,  or  not!" 

*  *  No  trouble  at  all,  sir !  He  '11  be  here  in  ten 
seconds." 

Walker,  junior,  had  nearly  made  the  same 
mistake  as  the  ticket-collecting  youth ;  however, 
he  estimated  time  c'orrectly.  He  went  out,  put 
his  head  through  the  open  window  of  the  "  Red 
Lion's'  bar-parlor,  and  shouted:  "Dad, 
you're  wanted!"  Thus,  within  ten  seconds,  the 
stranger  saw  the  firm! 

He  repeated  his  need,  and  there  was  a  great 
parade  of  big-leafed  books,  while  the  elder 
Walker  ascertained  the  prospective  client's 
exact  requirements.  Whittled  down  to  bare 
facts,  they  amounted  to  this :  A  house,  in  a 
small  and  remote  village,  and  a  trcut  stream. 
The  absolute  seclusion  of  the  village  and  its 
diminutive  proportions  were  insisted  on,  and 
property  after  property  was  rejected,  though 
the  Walkers  were  puzzled  to  know  why. 

This  distinguished-looking  man  wished  to  find 
a  dwelling  far  removed  from  any  social  center. 
His  ideal  was  a  tiny  moorland  hamlet,  miles 
from  the  railway,  and  out  of  the  beaten  track  of 
summer  visitors.  Suddenly,  the  son  cried: 

"  Elmdale  is  the  very  place,  dad!" 


A  NEW  TENANT  7 

Dad's  face  brightened,  but  clouded  again  in- 
stantly. 

"  You  mean — er — the  house  'round  the 
corner?"  he  said,  pursing  his  lips. 

"  Yes." 

"I'm  afraid  it  wouldn't  suit." 

1 '  Why  not  ? ' '  put  in  the  stranger.  ' '  I  rather 
like  the  name." 

"  I  didn't  mention  any  name,  sir,"  and 
Walker,  senior,  still  looked  glum. 

"  You  described  it  as  the  house  'round  the 
corner — an  excellent  name.  It  attracts  me. 
Where  is  Elmdale?" 

The  head  of  the  firm  pointed  to  a  map  of  the 
North  Riding  hanging  above  the  fireplace. 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  said,  seizing  a  pen  and 
running  it  along  the  meandering  black  line  of 
a  stream.  "  Eight  miles  from  Nuttonby,  and 
thousands  from  every  other  town — on  the  edge 
of  the  moor — about  forty  houses  in  the  village 
— and  a  first-rate  beck,  with  trout  running  from 
four  ounces  to  half  a  pound — but " 

"But  what?" 

"  The  house,  sir.    You  won't  like  the  house." 

"  What's  wrong  with  it?" 

"  Nothing.  It's  comfortable  enough,  and  well 
furnished." 

Yet  again  he  hesitated. 

"  Why,  it  appears  to  be,  as  your  son  said,  the 
very  place." 


8  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

Walker,  senior,  smiled  drearily.  He  knew 
what  was  coming. 

"  I  can't  recommend  it,  sir,  and  for  this 
reason.  A  gentleman  named  Garth — Mr.  Ste- 
phen Garth;  some  sort  of  professor,  I  under- 
stand— lived  there  a  many  years,  with  his  wife 
and  daughter.  Nice,  quiet  people  they  were,  and 
the  young  lady  was  a  beauty.  No  one  could 
make  out  why  they  should  wish  to  be  buried 
alive  in  a  hole  like  Elmdale,  but  they  seemed 
happy  enough.  Then,  two  years  since,  in  this 
very  month  of  June,  Mrs.  Garth  and  the  girl 
drove  into  Nuttonby  in  their  governess  car,  and 
went  off  by  train,  sending  the  trap  back  by  a 
hired  man.  Mr.  Garth  mooned  about  for  a  week 
or  two,  and  then  hanged  himself  one  evening 
alongside  a  grandfather's  clock  which  stands 
in  the  hall.  That  made  a  rare  stir,  I  can  tell 
you ;  since  then,  no  one  will  look  at  the  Grange, 
which  is  its  proper  name.  I  need  hardly  say 
that  the  villagers  have  seen  Mr.  Garth's  ghost 
many  times,  particularly  in  June,  because  in 
that  month  the  setting  sun  throws  a  peculiar 
shadow  through  a  stained-glass  window  on  the 
half  landing.  Last  year  I  let  the  place  to  a 
Sheffield  family  who  wanted  moorland  air.  My ! 
What  a  row  there  was  when  Mrs.  Wilkins  heard 
of  the  suicide,  and,  of  course,  saw  the  ghost! 
It  was  all  I  could  do  to  stave  off  an  action  for 
damages.  '  Never  again,'  said  I.  '  If  anybody 


A  NEW  TENANT  9 

else  rents  or  buys  the  house,  they  take  the  ghost 
with  it.'" 

"  Is  it  for  sale?" 

"  Oh,  yes!  Neither  Mrs.  Garth  nor  Miss 
Marguerite  have  come  near  Elmdale  since  they 
left.  They  didn't  attend  the  funeral,  and  I  may 
add,  in  confidence,  that  Messrs.  Holloway  & 
Dobb,  solicitors  in  this  town,  who  have  charge 
of  their  affairs — so  far  as  the  ownership  of  the 
Grange  goes,  at  any  rate — do  not  know  their 
whereabouts.  It  is  a  sad  story,  sir." 

The  would-be  tenant  was  apparently  unmoved 
by  the  story's  sadness. 

"  What  kind  of  house  is  it?'  he  inquired. 

"  Old-fashioned,  roomy,  with  oaken  rafters, 
and  a  Jacobean  grate  in  the  dining-room.  Five 
bedrooms.  Fine  garden,  with  its  own  well,  fed 
by  a  spring.  The  kind  of  seventeenth-century 
dwelling  that  would  fetch  a  high  rent  nowadays 
if  near  a  town.  As  it  is,  I'd  be  glad  to  take 
sixty  pounds  a  year  for  it,  or  submit  an  offer. ' ' 

"  Furnished?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  some  decent  stuff  in  it,  too. 
I'm  surprised  Messrs.  Holloway  &  Dobb  don't 
sell  that,  anyhow;  but  I  believe  they  have  a  sort 
of  order  from  Mrs.  Garth  that  the  property  is 
to  be  sold  as  it  stands,  and  not  broken  up  piece- 
meal." 

"  Why  did  you  describe  it  as  the  house 
'round  the  corner?" 


10  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

Mr.  Walker  smiled. 

11  That  was  for  my  son's  benefit,  sir,"  he 
explained.  "  The  Elmdale  cottages  are  clus- 
tered together  on  the  roadside.  The  Grange 
stands  above  them,  at  one  end,  and  a  few  yards 
up  a  road  leading  to  the  moor.  It  commands  a 
fine  view,  too,"  he  added  regretfully. 

"  I'll  take  it,"  said  the  stranger. 

Walker,  junior,  looked  jubilant,  but  his 
father's  years  had  weakened  confidence  in  man- 
kind. Many  a  good  let  was  lost  ere  the  agree- 
ment wias  signed  and  this  one  was  beset  by 
special  difficulties. 

"  If  you  give  me  your  name  and  address,  I'll 

consult  Messrs.  Holloway  &  Dobb "  he 

began,  and  was  probably  more  astonished  than 
he  would  care  to  confess  by  the  would-be  ten- 
ant's emphatic  interruption — 

* '  Is  this  property  to  let,  or  is  it  not  f ' ' 

"  Yes,  sir.    Haven't  I  said  so?" 

"  Very  well!  I  offer  you  a  quarter's  rent, 
payable  to  you  or  your  son  when  I  have  looked 
at  the  place.  As  a  matter  of  form,  I  would  like 
one  of  you  to  accompany  me  to  Elmdale  at  once, 
because  I  must  inquire  into  the  fishing.  I  sup- 
pose you  can  hire  a  conveyance  of  sorts  to  take 
us  there?  Of  course,  in  any  event,  I  shall  pay 
your  fee  for  the  journey.  My  name  is  Robert 
Armathwaite.  I  am  a  stranger  in  this  part  of 
Yorkshire,  but  if  you,  or  Messrs.  Holloway  & 


A  NEW  TENANT  11 

Dobb,  care  to  call  at  the  local  bank,  say,  in  three 
days '  time,  you  will  be  satisfied  as  to  my  finan- 
cial standing.  I'll  sign  an  agreement  for  a 
yearly  tenancy,  terminable  thereafter  by  three 
months '  written  notice,  when  I  pay  the  first  in- 
stallment of  the  rent.  As  the  place  is  furnished, 
you  will  probably  stipulate  for  payment  in 
advance  throughout.  I  fancy  you  can  draw  up 
such  an  agreement  in  half  an  hour,  and,  if  there 
is  an  inventory,  it  should  be  checked  and  ini- 
tialed when  we  visit  the  house.  Does  that 
arrangement  suit  you?" 

The  Walkers  were  properous  and  pompous, 
but  they  knew  when  to  sink  their  pomposity. 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  can  be  done,"  agreed  the  elder 
man. 

"  Thank  you.  Which  is  the  leading  bank 
here?" 

Walker,  senior,  indicated  a  building  directly 
opposite. 

11  I'll  have  a  word  with  the  manager,"  said 
Mr.  Armathwaite.  "  If  I'm  here  in  half  an 
hour,  will  you  have  a  carriage  waiting?" 

"  A  dog-cart,  sir.  My  own.  My  son  will 
attend  to  you." 

"  Excellent.  Evidently,  your  firm  under- 
stands business." 

And  Mr.  Armathwaite  went  out. 

The  Walkers  watched  as  he  crossed  the  road, 
and  entered  the  bank.  Their  side  of  the  street 


12  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

being  higher  than  the  other,  they  could  see, 
above  the  frosted  lower  half  of  the  bank's  win- 
dow, that  he  approached  the  counter,  and  was 
ushered  into  the  manager's  private  room. 

"  What  d'ye  make  of  it,  dad?"  inquired  the 
' '  nut, ' '  forgetting  his  importance  in  the  absorb- 
ing interest  of  the  moment. 

' '  Dad  ' '  tickled  his  bald  scalp  with  the  handle 
of  the  pen. 

"  Tell  you  what,"  he  said  solemnly.  "  Some 
houses  have  an  attraction  for  queer  folk.  Who- 
ever built  the  Grange  where  it  is  must  have 
been  daft.  The  people  who  lived  there  when  I 
was  a  young  man  were  a  bit  touched.  Mr. 
Garth  was  mad,  we  know,  an'  Mrs.  Wilkins  was 
the  silliest  woman  I  ever  met.  Now  comes  this 
one. ' ' 

1 1  He  looks  all  right." 

"  You  never  can  tell.  At  any  rate,  we'll  take 
his  money,  and  welcome.  I  asked  sixty,  but 
wouldn't  have  sneezed  at  forty.  Neither  would 
Holloway  &  Dobb;  they've  some  costs  to  collect 
since  the  Wilkins'  affair.  Go  and  get  the  trap 
ready.  And  mind  you,  Jim,  no  hanky-panky." 

The  youthful  Walker  winked. 

"  You  leave  that  to  me,"  he  said.  "  What 
about  the  fee — will  he  stand  a  guinea?" 

"You  might  try  it,  at  any  rate." 

At  the  appointed  time,  half-past  eleven 
o'clock,  Mr.  Armathwaite  came,  carrying  a 


A  NEW  TENANT  13 

large  parcel  wrapped  in  brown  paper.  He  cast 
an  appreciative  eye  at  a  wiry  cob,  put  the  parcel 
in  the  back  of  the  waiting  dog-cart,  and  climbed 
to  the  seat  beside  the  younger  Walker,  now 
attired  de  rigueur  for  the  country. 

"  Will  you  kindly  call  at  the  railway  sta- 
tion?" he  said. 

The  request  was  unexpected,  but  the  driver 
nodded,  and  showed  some  skill  in  turning 
through  the  congeries  of  vehicles  which  crowded 
the  street. 

At  the  station,  the  bag  and  other  small  ar- 
ticles were  withdrawn  from  the  parcels  office, 
and  deposited  beside  the  package  in  brown 
paper.  James  Walker  was  mystified,  but  said 
nothing.  Eeturning  through  the  main  street,  he 
answered  a  few  questions  concerning  local  mat- 
ters, and,  once  in  the  open  country,  grew  volu- 
ble under  the  influence  of  a  first-rate  Havana 
proffered  by  his  companion.  Men  of  his  type 
often  estimate  their  fellows  by  a  tobacco  stand- 
ard, and  Walker  privately  appraised  the  cigar 
as  "  worth  a  bob,  at  the  lowest  figure."  From 
that  instant,  Mr.  Robert  Armathwaite  and  Mr. 
James  Walker  took  up  their  relative  positions 
without  demur  on  the  part  of  either. 

Oddly  enough,  seeing  that  the  newcomer  had 
expressed  his  dislike  for  society,  he  listened 
with  interest  to  bits  of  gossip  concerning  the 
owners  of  the  various  estates  passed  on  the 


14  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

way.  He  was  specially  keen  on  names,  even 
inquiring  as  to  what  families  one  titled  land- 
owner was  connected  with  by  marriage.  Then, 
as  to  the  fishing,  could  the  Walkers  arrange 
that  for  him? 

Forgetting  his  'cuteness,  Walker  settled  the 
point  off-hand. 

"  You  had  better  deal  with  the  matter  your- 
self, sir,"  he  said.  "  There'll  be  no  difficulty. 
Nearly  all  the  Elmdale  farms  are  freeholds, 
most  of  'em  with  common  rights  on  the  moor. 
Why,  when  one  of  'em  changes  hands,  the 
buyer  has  the  right  to  take  over  all  the  sheep 
footed  on  the  seller's  part  of  the  moor.  P'raps 
you  don't  know  what  *  footed  '  means.  Sheep 
will  always  go  back  to  the  place  where  they 
were  raised,  and  the  habit  is  useful  when  they 
stray  over  an  open  moorland.  So,  you  see,  all 
you  have  to  do  is  to  get  permission  from  two 
or  three  farmers,  and  you  can  fish  for  miles." 

He  tried  to  talk  of  the  Garths,  particularly 
of  the  pretty  daughter,  but  his  hearer's  atten- 
tion wandered;  obviously,  information  as  to 
the  ways  and  habits  of  the  local  yeomanry  was 
more  to  Mr.  Armathwaite 's  taste  than  a 
"  nut's  "  gushing  about  a  good-looking  girl. 

Within  an  hour,  after  five  miles  of  fair  road- 
way and  two  of  a  switchback,  mostly  rising, 
Walker  pointed  with  his  whip  to  a  thin  line  of 
red-tiled  houses,  here  and  there  a  thatched  roof 


A  NEW  TENANT  15 

among  them,  nestling  at  the  foot  of  a  gill,  or 
ravine,  which  pierced  the  side  of  a  gaunt  moor- 
land. Above  the  hamlet,  at  the  eastern  end, 
rose  an  old-fashioned  stone  house,  square, 
with  a  portico  in  the  center,  and  a  high-pitched 
roof  of  stone  slabs. 

" There's  Elmdale,"  he  said,  "and  that's 
the  Grange.  Looks  a  god-forsaken  hole, 
doesn't  it,  sir?" 

"If  you  pay  heed  to  the  real  meanings  of 
words,  no  place  on  earth  merits  that  descrip- 
tion," said  Mr.  Armathwaite. 

Walker  was  no  whit  abashed. 

"Well,  no,"  he  grinned. 

"I  ought  to  have  asked  sooner,  but  have  you 
brought  any  keys  f ' ' 

The  agent  instinct  warned  the  other  that  his 
choice  of  an  adjective  had  been  unwise  in  more 
ways  than  one. 

"That's  all  right,  sir,"  he  said  cheerfully. 
"The  keys  are  kept  in  the  village — at  Mrs. 
Jackson's.  She's  a  useful  old  body.  If  you 
want  a  housekeeper,  she  and  her  daughter 
would  suit  you  down  to  the  ground." 

Little  more  was  said  until  the  steaming  pony 
was  pulled  up  in  front  of  a  thatched  cottage. 
Seen  thus  intimately,  and  in  the  blaze  of  a 
June  sun,  Elmdale  suggested  coziness.  Each 
house,  no  matter  what  its  size,  had  a  garden  in 
front  and  an  orchard  behind.  Long,  narrow 


\ 


16  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

pastures  ran  steeply  up  to  the  moor,  and  cattle 
and  sheep  were  grazing  in  them.  There  were 
crops  on  the  lower  land.  For  all  its  remote- 
ness, Elmdale  faced  south,  and  its  earth  was 
fertile. 

Armathwaite  sat  in  the  dog-cart  while  James 
Walker  ran  up  the  strip  of  flower-laden  garden, 
and  peered  in  through  a  low  doorway.  In  later 
days,  the  singular  fact  was  borne  in  on  Armath- 
waite that  had  his  companion  adopted  any  other 
method  of  making  known  his  business — had  he, 
for  instance,  shouted  to  Mrs.  Jackson  or  her 
daughter,  Betty,  and  asked  for  the  keys  of  the 
Grange — the  whole  course  of  his  subsequent 
life  would  unquestionably  have  been  altered.  A 
loose  stone  under  the  foot  of  an  emperor's 
horse  may  change  the  map  of  the  world.  In 
this  instance,  a  remarkable,  and,  in  some  re- 
spects, unique  series  of  events  arose  solely 
from  the  fact  that  Walker,  junior,  was  of  active 
habit,  and  alighted  from  the  vehicle  in  prefer- 
ence to  announcing  his  wishes  for  others  to 
hear;  because  Betty  Jackson,  at  that  moment, 
was  plucking  gooseberries  in  the  back  garden, 
and  knew  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  until 
a  country  maid's  belated  wit  failed  completely 
to  stem  the  tide  of  circumstance. 

Armathwaite  caught  scraps  of  a  brief  but 
seemingly  heated  argument  going  on  inside  the 
cottage.  It  was  couched  in  the  Yorkshire  dia- 


A  NEW  TENANT  •        17 

lect,  which  he  understood,  to  some  extent,  but 
could  not  speak.  Then  Walker,  a  gallant  figure 
in  straw  hat,  gray  coat,  red  waistcoat  with 
gilded  buttons,  breeches  and  gaiters  and  brown 
boots,  strutted  into  sight.  He  was  red-faced 
and  laughing,  and  a  bundle  of  keys  jingled  in 
one  hand. 

"Mrs.  Jackson's  as  bad  as  any  of  'em,"  he 
cried,  springing  to  his  seat  and  taking  the  reins 
from  a  clip  on  the  dash-board.  "Made  such  a 
to-do  about  anyone  looking  over  the  house. 
Asked  if  you'd  heard  of  the  ghost,  too.  And, 
blow  me,  if  she  didn't  pretend  she'd  mislaid  the 
keys!  We  wouldn't  have  got  'em  for  a  deuce 
of  a  time  if  I  hadn't  twigged  'em  hanging  on 
a  nail,  and  grabbed  'em.  Then  she  gave  me  my 
name  for  nothing,  I  can  assure  you." 

"Yet  you  recommended  her  for  the  post 
of  housekeeper,"  said  Armathwaite,  smil- 
ing. 

"Yes,  sir.  She's  a  rare  good  cook,  and  tidy, 
too.  Can't  make  out  what's  come  over  her. 
She  was  fair  scared  to  death." 

Walker's  statement  as  to  Mrs.  Jackson's  be- 
havior was  by  no  means  highly  colored.  Be- 
fore he  reached  the  dog-cart,  the  old  woman  had 
hurried  into  the  back  garden. 

"Betty!"  she  shrilled.  "Betty,  where  are 
you?" 

A  head  in  a  poke-bonnet  rose  above  a  clump 


18  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

of   tall   gooseberry  bushes,   and   a   voice   an- 
swered : 

"Yes,  mother,  what  is  it?" 

"Kun,  girl,  run!  What's  to  be  done?  Mr. 
Walker  has  brought  a  man  to  look  at  the  house." 

"What  house?" 

"The  Grange,  to  be  sure." 

"Oh,  mother!" 

Betty  ran  quickly  enough  now.  She  was  a 
strongly-built,  apple-cheeked  lass;  but  there 
was  a  glint  of  fear  in  her  eyes,  and  the  faces  of 
both  mother  and  daughter  had  gone  gray  under 
the  tan  of  moor  air  and  much  work  in  the  open. 

"Whatever  can  we  do?"  cried  Mrs.  Jack- 
son, with  the  hopeless "  distress  of  a  woman, 
overwhelmed  by  some  unforeseen  and  tragic  oc- 
currence. ' '  That  impudent  young  Walker  came 
and  snatched  at  the  keys  before  I  could  stop 
him.  And  they've  gone  there,  the  pair  of  'era! 
There  they  are  now — halfway  up  the  hill." 

All  this,  of  course,  was  couched  in  "broad 
Yorkshire,"  which,  however,  need  not  enter 
into  the  record.  The  two  gazed  at  the  men  in 
the  dog-cart,  who  were  partly  visible  above  a 
yew  hedge,  since  the  by-road  in  which  the 
Grange  was  situated  turned  up  the  hill  by  the 
gable  of  Mrs.  Jackson's  cottage. 

* '  Oh,  mother ! ' '  said  the  girl,  in  awe-stricken 
accents,  "why  didn't  you  hide  'em?" 

"How  was  I  to  hide  'em?    I  was  knocked  all 


A  NEW  TENANT  19 

of  a  heap.  Who'd  have  thought  of  anyone  com- 
ing here  to-day,  of  all  days  in  the  year?" 

"Who's  that  with  him?"  Betty  almost 
sobbed. 

"The  man  who's  going  over  the  house,  of 
course." 

"Oh,  dear!  If  only  I'd  known!  I'd  have 
taken  the  keys  and  gone  with  them." 

"What  good  would  that  have  done?" 

"I  might  have  humbugged  them  into  waiting 
a  minute  or  two.  I'd  have  thought  of  some  ex- 
cuse. But  don't  worry  too  much,  mother. 
Maybe  they'll  give  the  least  little  look  round, 
and  come  away  again." 

"And  maybe  they  won't,"  cried  Mrs.  Jack- 
son angrily,  for  she  was  recovering  from  her 
fright,  and  her  daughter's  implied  reproach 
was  irritating.  "I  did  my  best,  and  it  can't  be 
helped  now,  no  matter  what  happens.  Run 
after  them,  Betty,  and  offer  to  help.  You  may 
manage  something,  even  now." 

The  girl  needed  no  second  bidding.  She  was 
through  the  cottage  and  out  in  the  road  in  a 
jiffy.  But  she  had  lost  a  minute  or  more  al- 
ready, and  the  sturdy  galloway  was  climbing 
a  steep  hill  quickly.  When  she  reached  a  gar- 
den gate  to  which  the  reins  were  tied,  the  front 
door  of  the  Grange  stood  open,  and  the  visitors 
were  inside. 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  breathed,  in  a  heart-broken 


20  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

way.  "Oh,  dear!  If  only  mother  had  called 
me  sooner!  Now,  it's  too  late!  And  I  prom- 
ised that  no  one  should  know.  Well,  I  must 
do  my  best.  Just  a  bit  of  luck,  and  I  may 
pull  things  straight  yet!" 


CHAPTER  II 

SHOWING  HOW  EVEN  A  HOUSE  MAY  HAVE  A  WAY  OP 
ITS  OWN 

WHILE  Walker  was  fiddling  with  the  lock,  not 
being  quite  sure  as  to  the  right  key,  Armath- 
waite  had  eyed  the  southern  landscape.  Elm- 
dale  was  six  hundred  feet  above  sea  level,  and 
the  Grange  stood  fully  a  hundred  feet  higher 
than  the  village,  so  a  far-flung  panorama  of  till- 
age, pasture,  and  woodland  provided  a  delight- 
ful picture  on  that  glorious  June  day.  To  the 
north,  he  knew,  stretched  miles  of  wild  moor, 
and  the  heather  began  where  the  spacious  gar- 
den ended.  A  glance  at  the  map  in  the  Walk- 
ers' office  had  shown  that  this  bleak  waste  was 
crossed  by  mere  tracks,  marked  in  the  dotted 
lines  which  motorists  abhor.  Indeed,  the  very 
road  leading  to  the  house  was  not  macadam- 
ized beyond  the  gate;  two  years  of  disuse  had 
converted  even  the  stone-covered  portion  into  a 
sort  of  meadow,  because  grass,  the  sulkiest  of 
vegetables  in  a  well-tended  lawn,  will  grow 
luxuriantly  on  a  granite  wall  if  left  alone. 

Truly,  Elmdale  seemed  to  be  at  the  end  of 
the  world — the  world  of  Yorkshire,  at  any  rate 

21 


22  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

— and  Robert  Armathwaite  found  its  aspect 
pleasing.  A  lock  clicked;  he  turned,  and  en- 
tered a  domain  he  was  now  fully  resolved  to 
make  his  own. 

"Well,  I'm  blest!"  said  Walker,  speaking  in 
a  surprised  way;  " anyone  'ud  think  the  place 
hadn't  been  empty  an  hour,  let  alone  two  years, 
not  countin'  Mrs.  Wilkins's  couple  of  nights. 
I  wonder  who  left  these  clothes,  and  hats,  and 
things ! ' ' 

He  had  good  reason  for  a  certain  stare  of  be- 
wilderment. 

The  door,  which  was  stoutly  built,  with  a 
pane  of  sheet  glass  in  the  upper  half,  opened 
straight  into  a  spacious,  oak-paneled  hall.  Left 
and  right  were  a  dining-room  and  a  drawing- 
room,  each  containing  two  windows.  Behind  the 
dining-room  a  wide  staircase  gave  access  to  the 
upper  floors,  and  a  flood  of  rich  and  variously- 
tinted  light  from  a  long  arched  window  glowed 
on  the  dark  panels  below,  and  glistened  on  the 
polished  mahogany  case  of  a  grandfather's 
clock  which  faced  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  The 
wall  opposite  the  entrance  was  pierced  by  a 
half-open  door,  through  which  could  be  seen 
laden  bookshelves  reaching  up  eight  feet  or 
more.  Another  door,  beyond  the  stairway, 
showed  the  only  possible  means  of  approach  to 
the  kitchen  and  domestic  offices. 

There  were  no  pictures  in  the  hall,  but  some 


A  WAY  OF  ITS  OWN  23 

antique  plates  and  dishes  of  blue  china  were 
ranged  on  a  shelf  above  the  wainscot,  and  a  nar- 
row table  and  four  straight-backed  chairs,  all  of 
oak,  were  in  tasteful  keeping  with  the  surround- 
ings. On  each  side  of  the  dining-room  door 
were  double  rows  of  hooks,  and  on  these  hung 
the  garments  which  had  caught  the  agent's  eye. 

A  bowler  hat,  a  frayed  panama,  a  cap,  a  cou- 
ple of  overcoats,  even  a  lady's  hat  and  mackin- 
tosh, lent  an  air  of  occupancy  to  the  house,  which 
was  not  diminished  by  the  presence  of  several 
sticks  and  umbrellas  in  a  couple  of  Chinese 
porcelain  stands.  Walker  took  down  the  pan- 
ama. It  was  dust-laden,  and  the  inner  band  of 
leather  had  a  clammy  feeling.  He  replaced  it 
hastily. 

" That's  the  Professor's,"  he  said,  trying  to 
speak  unconcernedly.  "I  remember  seeing  him 
in  it,  many  a  time." 

Armathwaite  noticed  the  action,  and  was 
aware  of  a  peculiar  timbre  in  Walker's  voice. 

"Now,  suppose  we  lay  that  ghost,  and  have 
done  with  it,"  he  said  quietly.  "Where  did  my 
worthy  and  retrospective  landlord  hang  him- 
self!" 

"There,"  said  Walker,  indicating  a  solitary 
hook  screwed  through  the  china  shelf  near  the 
clock.  "That  bronze  thing,"  pointing  to  a 
Burmese  gong  lying  on  the  floor,  "used  to  hang 
there.  He  took  it  down,  tied  the  rope  to  the 


24  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

hook,  and  kicked  a  chair  away.  ...  If  you 
come  here,"  and  he  advanced  a  few  paces, 
"you'll  see  why  a  ghost  appears." 

"Mr.  Walker,"  bleated  someone  timidly. 

Mr.  Walker  unquestionably  jumped,  and 
quite  as  unquestionably  swore,  even  when  he 
recognized  Betty  Jackson,  standing  in  the 
porch. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  he  cried  gruffly,  hoping 
his  companion  has  missed  that  display  of 
nerves. 

"Please,  sir,  mother  thought — "  began  the 
girl;  but  the  startled  "nut"  was  annoyed,  and 
showed  it. 

"I  don't  care  what  your  mother  thinks,"  he 
shouted.  "Refusing  me  the  keys,  indeed! 
What  next?  I've  a  good  mind  to  report  her  to 
Messrs.  Holloway  &  Dobb." 

"But,  sir,  she  only  wanted  to  make  the  house 
a  bit  more  tidy.  It's  dusty  and  stuffy.  If  you 
gentlemen  would  be  kind  enough  to  wait  in  the 
garden  five  minutes,  I'd  open  up  the  rooms,  and 
raise  a  window  here  and  there." 

Betty,  tearful  and  repentant,  had  entered  the 
hall  in  her  eagerness  to  serve.  Walker  weak- 
ened; he  had  a  soft  spot  in  his  heart  for  girls. 

"No  matter  now,"  he  said.  "We  shan't  be 
here  long.  This  gentleman  is  just  going  to  look 
round  and  see  if  the  place  suits  him." 

"The  best  bedroom  is  all  upside  down,"  she 


A  WAY  OF  ITS  OWN  25 

persisted.  "If  you'd  give  me  three  min- 
utes  " 

"  Bun  away  and  play,  and  don't  bother  us/' 
he  answered  off-handedly.  ' '  As  I  was  about  to 
say,  Mr.  Armathwaite,  someone  in  the  old  days 
put  stained  glass  in  that  window  on  the  landing. 
You'll  notice  it  shows  a  knight  in  black  armor 
—Edward,  the  Black  Prince,  it's  believed  to  be 
— and,  when  the  sun  sets  in  the  nor'  west,  it 
casts  a  strong  shadow  on  the  paneling  beside 
the  clock.  Of  course,  it  can  be  seen  from  the 
porch,  and  it  accounts  for  this  silly  story  about 
the  ghost " 

"  Oh!"  screamed  the  girl.  "  Why  talk  of 
such  horrid  things  ?  There 's  no  ghost ! ' ' 

Her  cry  was  so  unexpectedly  shrill  that 
Walker  yielded  to  an  anger  almost  as  loud- 
voiced. 

' '  Confound  you  1 "  he  stormed  at  her ;  ' '  take 
yourself  off!  One  more  word  from  you,  and 
your  mother  loses  her  job." 

Armathwaite  looked  into  the  girl's  troubled 
face  and  saw  there  a  fear,  a  foreboding,  which 
were  very  real,  if  not  to  be  accounted  for 
readily. 

* '  Kindly  leave  us, ' '  he  said.  "  If  I  want  Mrs. 
Jackson,  or  you,  I'll  call  at  the  cottage." 

There  was  an  air  of  authority  about  Mr. 
Armathwaite  that  disconcerted  Betty  more  than 
Walker's  bluster.  She  went  out  and  closed  the 


26  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

front  door.  The  agent  ran  and  opened  it 
again.  The  girl  was  standing  on  the  path,  clear 
of  the  porch,  and  gazing  wistfully  at  the 
house. 

"  Will  you  mind  your  own  business?"  he 
grumbled.  "  The  deuce  take  it,  what's  come  to 
you  to-day?  You  and  your  mother  seem  half 
crazy. ' ' 

"  We  don't  like  folk  to  see  the  place  at  its 
worst,"  she  said,  rather  defiantly. 

"  You're  doing  your  best  to  turn  Mr.  Arma- 
thwaite  against  it,  I  should  think,"  was  the 
angry  comment.  "  Now,  don't  touch  this  door 
again,  and  clear  out,  d'ye  hear?" 

Betty  flushed.  She  was  distressed,  but  dales' 
blood  boils  quickly  when  subjected  to  the  fire  of 
contumely. 

"  I  haven't  asked  such  a  favor,"  she  said. 
"  And  you  might  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your 
head." 

Walker  sniffed  his  annoyance.  But  why 
bandy  words  with  this  aggressive  young  wo- 
man? He  swung  on  his  heel. 

11  Sorry  you  should  have  met  with  such  a 
queer  reception,  Mr.  Armathwaite, "  he  said. 
"  I  can't  account  for  it.  I  really  can't.  Per- 
haps Mrs.  Jackson  feels  hurt  that  I  didn't  let 
her  know  you  were  coming,  but 

"  Never  mind  Mrs.  Jackson  or  her  daughter," 
said  Armathwaite  placidly.  "I'll  soon  settle 


A  WAT  OF  ITS  OWN  27 

matters  with  them.  Now,  you  have  an  inven- 
tory, I  believe?  Suppose  we  start  here." 

11  Then  you've  decided  to  take  the  house, 
sir?" 

"  Yes,  two  hours  ago,  in  Nuttonby." 

"  I  wish  all  our  clients  were  like  you," 
laughed  Walker.  "  You  know  what  you  want 
and  see  that  you  get  it.  ...  Well,  sir,  as  it 
happens,  the  inventory  begins  with  the  hall.  I'll 
read,  and  you  might  note  the  items,  stopping 
me  if  there's  any  doubt." 

The  agent  rattled  through  his  task,  but  was 
pulled  up  several  times  in  dining-room  and 
drawing-room,  when  a  picture  or  two,  some 
Sheffield  plate,  and  various  bits  of  china  were 
missing.  Black  doubt  seized  the  sharp  Walker 
when  this  had  happened  for  the  fourth  time.  In 
all,  there  were  seven  disappearances,  and,  in 
each  instance,  the  article  was  old  and  fairly 
valuable.  Country  villages,  he  reflected,  were 
ransacked  nowadays  by  collectors  of  curios. 
When  opportunity  served,  he  and  Mrs.  Jack- 
son would  have  some  earnest  words. 

But  surprise  and  relief  came  in  the  discovery 
of  the  seven ;  they  were  piled,  with  a  number  of 
books,  on  a  table  in  the  library. 

11  I  suppose  some  kind  of  spring  cleaning  is 
going  on,"  he  said  sheepishly.  "  Now  the  cat  is 
out  of  the  bag.  Why  the  deuce  didn't  Betty  say 
so,  and  have  done  with  it !" 


28  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"  I  imagine  she  was  trying  to  tell  us  some- 
thing of  the  sort,"  smiled  the  other  unconcern- 
edly. "  Surely  we  have  not  got  to  check  the 
titles  of  all  these  books?" 

"  No,  sir.  They're  lumped  together — about 
eight  hundred  volumes." 

Armathwaite  surveyed  the  shelves  with  the 
eye  of  a 'reader. 

"  That  must  be  nearly  right,"  he  said,  after  a 
little  pause.  "  I  must  not  get  mine  mixed  with 
my  predecessor's.  I've  brought  nearly  two 
hundred  myself. ' ' 

Walker  thought  of  the  brown  paper  parcel, 
which  seemed  to  have  a  certain  solidity,  but 
said  nothing.  In  the  first  place,  if  eight  hun- 
dred books  occupied  so  much  space,  a  quarter 
of  that  number  would  fit  in  no  ordinary  sheet 
of  brown  paper.  Secondly,  Mr.  Armathwaite 's 
manner  did  not  invite  unnecessary  ques- 
tions. The  kitchen  and  scullery  were  soon 
dealt  with.  There  was  coal  in  a  cellar, 
and  a  supply  of  wood,  and  a  number 
of  lamps  drew  attention  to  some  tins  of 
oil. 

"  How  much  for  this  lot?"  inquired  the 
would-be  tenant. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Walker,  in  a  sudden  fit  of 
generosity.  "  These  stores  were  left  by  Mrs. 
Wilkins,  and  lost  sight  of  during  the  row.  My, 
what  a  bother  she  raised !" 


A  WAY  OF  ITS  OWN  29 

"  Yet  there  is  no  ghost;  we  have  Betty's 
word  for  it.  Now — the  bedrooms." 

The  "  best  "  bedroom — that  in  the  south- 
east angle — was  certainly  not  in  disorder. 
Indeed,  it  looked  fresher  and  cleaner  than  any  of 
the  others;  the  bed  was  spotless;  even  the 
window-sill  had  been  dusted  recently. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  agent,  "  those  two 
silly  women  have  been  tidying  things  up  a  bit 
for  the  season.  I'm  getting  the  hang  of  things 
by  degrees.  They're  afraid  I  might  think  it 
should  have  been  done  sooner." 

"  Probably,"  agreed  Armathwaite,  who, 
however,  held  a  somewhat  different  view.  The 
girl  was  not  afraid  of  Mr.  James  Walker.  Of 
whom,  then,  or  of  what?  If  the  inquiry  inter- 
ested him  he  would  find  out. 

The  remaining  bedrooms  held  at  least  one 
year's  dust. 

A  box-room,  lumber-room,  and  servant's 
bed-room  occupied  the  second  floor.  In  the 
ceiling  of  a  small  lobby  there  was  a  trap- 
door. 

"  That  leads  to  a  space  beneath  the  roof," 
said  Walker.  "  By  the  way,  there  ought  to  be 
a  ladder.  It's  gone." 

Being,  as  has  been  seen,  of  active  habit,  he 
brought  a  chair  from  the  bedroom,  stood  on  it, 
pushed  up  the  flap,  and  peered  into  the  semi- 
obscurity  of  a  triangular,  rafter-lined  attic, 


30  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

lighted  only  by  a  tiny  square  of  glass  ce- 
mented into  one  of  the  flat  stone  slabs  of  the 
roof. 

"  Oh,  here  it  is,"  he  announced.  "  Shall  I 
pull  it  out?" 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  Armathwaite.  "  I  don't 
suppose  I  shall  mount  so  high  again  during  my 
tenancy. ' ' 

The  younger  man  closed  the  trap,  and,  as  it 
had  been  unfastened  previously,  shot  a  bolt 
into  its  socket. 

"  Well,  that  ends  it,"  he  said,  brushing  some 
grime  off  his  hands.  "  If  you  care  to  stroll 
through  the  garden  you'll  find  plenty  of  fruit 
coming  on.  This  should  be  a  good  year  for 
apples  and  plums,  I'm  told.  It's  too  late  to 
raise  any  potatoes  or  vegetables,  but  the  village 
will  supply  plenty  of  table  stuff,  and  cheap, 
too." 

"  Let  me  see,"  mused  Armathwaite  aloud. 
"  Fifteen  pounds  rent,  and,  say,  two  guineas 
for  your  fee,  and  another  guinea  for  the  con- 
veyance— eighteen  pounds  three  shillings  in  all. 
Let  us  adjourn  to  the  library,  and  I'll  pay  you, 
sign  the  agreement,  and  initial  the  inventory. 
Then  I  need  not  detain  you  any  longer,  Mr. 
Walker." 

The  agent  looked  blank,  as  well  he  might.  He 
was  flustered,  too,  by  the  terms  offered  for  his 
valuable  services. 


A  WAY  OF  ITS  OWN  31 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you're  going  to  stay 
here  straightaway,  sir?  he  cried. 

"  Yes.  I  came  prepared  for  immediate  oc- 
cupation. That  is  why  I  brought  my  bag,  and 
some  groceries." 

"  Groceries!" 

Walker  was  so  astonished  that  he  could  only 
repeat  the  word. 

"  That  parcel,  you  know.  I'm  an  old  cam- 
paigner— that  is,  I  have  much  experience  of 
camping  out,  under  far  less  pleasant  conditions 
than  in  a  delightful  house  in  a  Yorkshire  vil- 
lage. I  shall  be  quite  happy  here." 

"  But  there's  a  kind  of  an  inn  not  far  off; 
you'll  come  and  have  a  snack  there  with  me, 
sir?"  was  all  that  Walker  could  find  to  say  at 
the  moment. 

"I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  but  I  may  not  stir 
out  again  to-day.  Shall  we  go  down?" 

They  descended  the  stairs,  which  creaked 
loudly  under  their  feet.  Walker  was  puzzled  to 
understand  a  cool  customer  of  the  Armath- 
waite  type.  He  had  never  heard  of  a  tenancy 
being  entered  into  with  such  promptitude,  yet 
there  was  no  point  in  the  stranger's  behavior 
which  he  could  fix  on  as  definitely  eccentric,  or 
even  unusual.  The  man  evidently  knew  his  own 
mind,  and,  if  he  paid  up,  the  philosophy  of 
Walker,  senior,  fitted  the  case  admirably. 
Still  it  was  a  slightly  dazed  Son  who  pocketed 


32  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

fifteen  pounds  in  notes  and  three  guineas  in 
coin,  and  gave  receipts  for  these  sums,  and 
exchanged  copies  of  an  agreement,  and  handed 
over  the  keys. 

"  Take  another  cigar,"  said  the  new  tenant, 
bidding  him  good-bye  at  the  front  door,  when 
bag  and  parcel  had  been  brought  in  and  dumped 
on  the  hall  table.  "  Oh,  there  is  one  other 
small  matter.  I  left  three  boxes  at  Nuttonby 
Station.  Here  is  the  voucher.  Can  you  get 
some  carter  or  farmer  to  bring  them  here,  to- 
day or  to-morrow?  I'll  pay  him  well  for  his 
trouble.  They  're  rather  heavy — books,  mostly. ' r 

Conscious  of  a  subdued  feeling  which  he  was 
wholly  unable  to  explain,  Walker  took  the  cigar 
and  the  printed  slip,  raised  his  hat — an  action 
which  vexed  him  when  he  recalled  it  subse- 
quently— and  strolled  down  to  the  gate  and 
the  waiting  dog-cart.  Battling  the  reins  to  let 
the  pony  know  that  he  would  stand  no  nonsense, 
he  turned  the  corner  on  one  wheel,  and  gave 
not  the  slightest  heed  to  Betty  Jackson's  frantic 
efforts  to  attract  his  attention.  Without  slack- 
ening pace  at  the  Fox  and  Hounds  Inn,  he 
whisked  into  the  Nuttonby  road,  but  pulled  up 
on  the  crest  of  the  first  hill. 

Looking  back  at  Elmdale,  lying  snug  and  con- 
tent in  the  blazing  sunshine  of  early  afternoon, 
he  gazed  at  the  Grange  during  a  full  minute. 
The  front  door  was  closed.  So  far  as  he  could 


A  WAY  OF  ITS  OWN  33 

make  out,  no  tall  figure  was  sauntering  in  gar- 
den or  orchard.  Then  he  felt  in  his  breeches 
pocket,  to  make  sure,  by  the  touch  of  notes  and 
gold,  that  he  was  not  dreaming. 

"  "Well,  I'm  jiggered,  if  this  isn't  a  rum  go!" 
he  muttered,  and  chirruped  the  pony  into  a 
trot  again. 

In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Robert  Armathwaite 
had  watched  his  hurried  departure,  in  the  first 
instance  from  the  porch  and  subsequently  from 
one  of  the  windows  in  the  dining-room. 

"  Perhaps  I've  made  a  mistake,"  he  com- 
muned, with  an  amused  smile,  when  he  noted 
the  momentary  stopping  of  the  dog-cart  outside 
the  village.  "  I've  puzzled  that  young  sprig, 
and  I  might  have  avoided  that.  Not  that  it 
matters  a  great  deal.  His  father  will  inquire 
at  the  bank  about  my  financial  standing,  and  the 
pair  of  them  will  put  me  down  as  a  well-to-do 
lunatic.  Maybe  they  will  prove  right.  "Who 
can  tell?  At  any  rate,  I've  not  felt  so  content 
with  my  lot  since  I  left  India.  Now  for  some 
bread  and  cheese,  and  a  thorough  survey  of  my 
domain." 

He  unpacked  the  brown  paper  parcel  on  the 
kitchen  table,  and  thereby  proved  himself  at 
least  well  skilled  as  'a  caterer.  Bacon,  flour, 
bread,  tea,  coffee,  sugar — all  manner  of  simple 
domestic  stores  were  there.  He  had,  in  fact, 
gone  into  a  grocer's  shop  in  Nuttonby,  pro- 


34  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

duced  a  written  list,  and  asked  that  the  articles 
named  therein  should  be  of  the  best  quality  and 
got  ready  at  once. 

While  munching  a  frugal  meal  he  bethought 
himself  of  the  water  supply.  Unlocking  the 
back  door,  he  found  the  well,  and  drew  a 
bucket  of  water,  which  was  excellent  in  quality, 
and,  by  no  means  suffering  from  disuse;  in- 
deed, he  learnt  later  that  the  Jacksons  and 
other  cottagers  took  their  supply  from  that 
source. 

After  a  stroll  round  the  garden  and  orchard 
— noting  the  laden  gooseberry  and  currant 
bushes  in  the  one,  and  several  varieties  of 
apples,  pears,  plums,  and  cherries  in  the  other 
— he  went  back  to  the  house.  Going  upstairs, 
he  took  possession  of  the  "  best  "  room,  and 
distributed  the  contents  of  the  bag  among  var- 
ious drawers  and  on  a  dressing-table.  A  large 
wardrobe  contained  some  feminine  garments, 
old,  but  of  good  quality,  and  he  left  them  undis- 
turbed. Examining  the  bed,  he  found  the  sheets 
scrupulously  clean  and  well-aired.  To  all  seem- 
ing, they  had  been  put  there  that  very  day, 
and  he  believed  that  the  Jackson  family  meant 
to  accommodate  some  friend  in  the  Grange  for 
the  night,  which  reasonable  surmise  explained 
Betty  Jackson's  anxiety  lest  any  hint  of  the 
project  should  reach  the  agent's  ears. 

"It's  too  bad  if  I've  contrived  to  upset  their 


A  WAY  OF  ITS  OWN  35 

plans,"  he  mused.  "  They're  welcome  to  any 
other  room,  for  all  that  I  care,  and  I'll  tell 
them  so  if  I  come  across  either  of  them  this 
evening. ' ' 

Nevertheless,  meaning  to  be  lord  of  his  own 
realm,  he  locked  the  doors,  both  back  and  front, 
when  he  went  for  a  ramble  over  the  moors. 
He  was  willing  to  fall  in  with  any  hospitable 
arrangement  the  caretakers  might  have  in  view, 
but  they  must  consult  him,  and  he  refused  to 
have  either  of  them  prowling  about  the  house 
in  his  absence. 

He  followed  the  moorland  road  for  some 
miles,  meeting  no  one,  and  seeing  no  living 
creature  save  hundreds  of  black-faced  sheep. 
Not  even  a  grouse  scurried  across  the  heather, 
for  June  is  the  nesting  season,  and  the  parent 
birds  lie  close.  Noting  the  watershed,  he  found 
the  source  of  the  beck  which  brawled  through 
Elmdale,  and  tracked  it  back  to  the  village.  It 
was  alive  with  trout  and  grayling,  and  his  fin- 
gers itched  for  a  rod.  He  regretted  now  that 
he  had  not  obtained  the  names  of  some  of  the 
riparian  landowners  from  Walker,  but  realized 
that  the  village  inn  would  soon  yield  all  the 
information  he  needed,  and  probably  contain 
some  of  the  farmers  in  person  that  evening. 

He  reached  his  new  abode,  however,  some- 
what later  than  he  had  intended,  approaching 
it  from  the  east,  which  afforded  not  only  a  new 


36  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

point  of  view,  but  enabled  him  to  detect  Mrs. 
Jackson  and  Betty  in  a  series  of  manoeuvres 
which  were  distinctly  mysterious  when  taken 
into  account  with  their  earlier  attitude. 

Obviously,  when  he  emerged  from  the  depths 
of  the  tree-lined  gill,  and  first  caught  sight  of 
the  house,  mother  and  daughter  had  just  quitted 
the  front  door,  presumably  after  knocking,  and 
failing  to  obtain  an  answer.  Betty  ran  out  into 
the  road,  and  gazed  up  towards  the  moor.  Ap- 
parently satisfied  by  her  scrutiny  of  that  bare 
upland  she  hurried  to  the  rear  of  the  premises, 
and  reappeared,  carrying  a  gardener's  ladder, 
which  she  placed  against  the  wall.  Giving  a 
rapid  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  village,  she 
mounted  the  ladder.  It  was  rather  short,  and 
she  was  in  some  danger  of  falling,  but,  by  cling- 
ing to  a  creeper,  she  managed  to  reach  a  suffi- 
cient height  that  she  could  peer  into  the  bed- 
room in  which  Armathwaite  had  spread  his 
belongings. 

She  descended  again  swiftly,  took  away  the 
ladder,  and  returned  to  her  mother.  Both 
women  eyed  the  upper  windows  anxiously,  and, 
as  the  outcome  of  some  talk,  Betty  went  to  the 
gate  a  second  time,  and  looked  along  the  bold 
curve  of  the  moorland  road.  She  shook  her 
head.  Her  mother  joined  her,  and  the  two  went 
to  their  cottage. 

Armathwaite  smiled,  and  resolved  to  keep  his 


A  WAY  OF  ITS  OWN  37 

knowledge  of  the  Jacksons'  behavior  to  him- 
self. He  did  not  wish  to  quarrel  with  the  wo- 
men, who  would  be  useful  in  many  ways.  In  a 
day  or  two,  when  he  had  won  their  confidence, 
they  would  doubtless  explain  their  queer  pro- 
ceedings; most  likely,  the  explanation  would 
prove  so  simple  that  it  would  never  occur  to  a 
suspicious  mind. 

Having  waited  to  fill  his  pipe,  he  entered  the 
village,  and  walked  up  the  narrow  path  to  Mrs. 
Jackson's  abode.  He  was  met  at  the  door  by 
Betty.  She  seemed  to  be  rather  alarmed  by  the 
visit,  yet  pleased  to  see  him. 

"Can  we  do  anything  for  you,  sir?"  she  said. 
"Mother  and  I  went  to  the  house  a  while  ago, 
but  you  were  out." 

In  the  oblique  Yorkshire  way  she  had  partly 
told  the  reason  of  the  visit.  Mrs.  Jackson,  too, 
came  and  stood  near  her  daughter,  and  it  was 
curious  to  note  the  underlook  of  alarm,  of 
poignant  anxiety,  in  both  faces. 

"I  wish  to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  to 
inquire  about  milk,  butter,  and  eggs,"  he  said 
pleasantly.  "Mr.  Walker  suggested  that  you 
might  be  willing  to  attend  to  household  matters, 
and  that  would  take  a  burden  off  my  mind." 

"We'll  be  pleased  to  do  it,  and  reasonable, 
too,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Jackson  promptly. 

"Very  well.  Come  and  see  me  in  the  morn- 
ing. Meanwhile,  can  you  arrange  for  a  quart 


38  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

of  milk,  a  pound  of  butter,  and  a  few  eggs  to  be 
sent  in  immediately?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir,"  said  both  together,  and  the 
expression  of  relief  in  the  one  face  was  mir- 
rored in  the  other. 

"You'll  be  wanting  something  cooked  now, 
sir?"  went  on  the  older  woman,  with  a  new 
cheerfulness  of  tone,  and  Armathwaite  would 
have  been  a  far  less  capable  student  of  human 
nature  than  he  was  had  he  failed  to  see  that  a 
much  desired  entry  to  the  house  was  now  re- 
garded as  an  assured  thing.  Suddenly  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  solve  the  enigma,  what- 
ever it  might  be,  since  the  theory  of  a  spare 
bed  being  in  request  did  not  seem  to  fit  the 
case. 

"No,"  he  said  carelessly,  treating  the  propo- 
sal as  of  slight  import,  one  way  or  the  other.  "I 
wish  to  be  alone  this  evening.  But  you  can 
come  in  early  to-morrow.  Isn't  there  a  spare 
key?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  broke  in  the  girl,  for  her  mother 
was  utterly  nonplused  again.  "It's  on  the 
bunch  with  the  others. ' ' 

He  produced  the  keys  from  his  pocket,  and 
saw  that  there  were  two  alike. 

"One  of  these?"  he  inquired,  meeting  the 
girl's  eyes  in  a  steady  glance.  Then  he  was 
sure  of  his  ground.  She  was  so  excited  that 
she  could  hardly  answer.  He  gave  her  the  key, 


A  WAY  OF  ITS  OWN  39 

ascertained  that  she  would  bring  the  milk  and 
the  rest  in  a  few  minutes,  and  left  the  two  wo- 
men staring  after  him. 

Betty  was  as  good  as  her  word.  She  made  no 
attempt  to  prolong  her  stay,  but  deposited  her 
purchases  on  the  hall-table,  and  promised  that 
she  or  her  mother  would  come  about  seven  in 
the  morning. 

"Will  you  need  to  be  called,  sir!"  she  in- 
quired, as  an  afterthought. 

*  *  Well,  yes.  I  'm  a  sound  sleeper, ' '  he  assured 
her  gravely. 

The  statement  was  true,  but  it  required  quali- 
fication. A  man  who  had  slept  many  a  night 
under  conditions  that  demanded  instant  wake- 
fulness  if  any  sinister  sound  threatened  his 
very  existence,  did  not  rank  in  the  class  of 
sound  sleepers  known  to  quiet  Elmdale. 

Thereafter  he  cooked  a  meal  of  eggs  and 
bacon,  tea  and  toast,  smoked,  rambled  in  the 
garden,  read,  thought  a  good  deal,  and  went  to 
bed. 

The  light  in  his  room  was  extinguished  soon 
after  ten  o'clock.  About  half -past  eleven,  little 
more  than  twelve  hours  from  the  time  he  had 
first  heard  of  "the  house  'round  the  corner," 
he  was  aroused  by  a  loud  crash  in  the  hall.  He 
was  up  in  an  instant,  laughing  at  the  success  of 
a  booby  trap  compacted  of  the  Burmese  gong, 
some  thread,  and  a  piece  of  wood  set  as  a  trig- 


40  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

ger.  His  feet  were  not  on  the  floor  before  the 
front  door  banged,  and,  hurrying  to  the  window, 
he  saw  Betty  Jackson  flying  down  the  path  for 
dear  life.  He  could  not  be  mistaken.  In  that 
northern  latitude  a  midsummer  night  is  never 
wholly  dark.  He  not  only  recognized  the  girl, 
but  could  note  her  heaving  shoulders  as  she 
sobbed  hysterically  in  her  flight. 

"I'm  sorry  if  you're  badly  scared,  my  coun- 
try maid,  but  you  asked  for  it,"  he  said  aloud. 
"Now  I  think  I'll  be  left  to  undisturbed  slum- 
ber till  seven  o'clock." 

Therein  he  erred.  He  had  not  quitted  the 
window,  being  held  by  the  solemn  beauty  of  the 
gray  landscape,  ere  a  heavy  thud,  and  then 
another,  and  yet  a  third,  reached  his  ears.  He 
might  not  have  localized  the  first,  but  its  succes- 
sors came  unmistakably  from  the  attic.  After 
a  few  seconds,  the  three  knocks  were  repeated, 
and  now  he  adjudged  them  to  the  precise 
bounds  of  the  trap-door. 

Slipping  an  automatic  pistol  into  the  pocket 
of  his  pyjama  suit — merely  as  a  precaution 
against  the  unforeseen,  though  he  was  a  man  de- 
void of  fear,  he  took  an  electric  torch  from  a 
drawer,  but  knew  better  than  to  bring  it  into 
use  until  its  glare  would  disconcert  others—- 
not himself.  He  thrust  his  bare  feet  into  slip- 
pers, unlocked  the  bedroom  door,  and  passed 
out  on  to  the  landing. 


A  WAY  OF  ITS  OWN  41 

"Now  to  unveil  Isis!"  he  thought,  as  he  felt 
for  the  first  step  of  the  upward  stairway.  It 
needed  one  of  steel  nerve  and  fine  courage  to 
creep  about  a  strange  house  in  the  dark — a 
house  where  ill  deeds  had  been  done,  and  in 
which  their  memories  lurked — but  Kobert 
Armathwaite  had  gone  through  experiences 
which  reduced  the  present  adventure  to  the  pro- 
portions of  a  somewhat  startling  prank,  closely 
akin  to  the  success  of  the  stratagem  which  had 
routed  Betty  Jackson. 

And,  as  he  mounted  the  stairs,  keeping  close 
to  the  wall,  and  thus  preventing  the  old  boards 
from  creaking,  again  came  those  ominous 
knocks,  louder,  more  insistent;  but  whether 
threatening  or  merely  clamorous  he  could  not 
decide — yet. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  MIDNIGHT   SEANCE 

AKMATHWAITE  had  a  foot  on  the  upper  landing 
when  a  stifled  sob  reached  his  ears,  and  a  de- 
termined, almost  angry,  stamping  or  hammer- 
ing shook  the  trap-door.  One  element,  then,  of 
the  mystery  attached  to  this  reputedly  ghost- 
ridden  house  was  about  to  be  dispelled.  When 
James  Walker  shot  the  bolt  which  rendered  the 
door  as  unyielding  as  the  stout  rafters  which 
incased  it,  he  had  unwittingly  imprisoned  some- 
one in  the  attic  loft;  and  the  someone,  tiring 
of  imprisonment,  was  making  loud  demand  for 
release.  Moreover,  Betty  Jackson  was  in  the 
secret.  She  knew  of  the  intruder's  presence, 
but  had  not  learnt  the  particular  mode  of  con- 
cealment adopted — hence  her  renewed  efforts 
to  gain  admission,  her  use  of  the  ladder,  and 
her  somewhat  daring  visit  during  the  dead 
hours  of  the  night. 

Now,  Armathwaite  scouted  the  notion  of  a 
couple  of  village  women  like  Mrs.  Jackson  and 
her  daughter  being  in  league  with  midnight  rob- 
bers, or  worse.  Even  if  some  thievery  was  in 
prospect,  they  could  not  possibly  have  arranged 
that  certain  unknown  miscreants  should  hide 

43 


A  MIDNIGHT  SEANCE  43 

beneath  the  roof,  since  the  arrival  of  Walker 
with  an  unexpected  tenant  was  evidently  the 
last  thing  they  had  dreamed  of. 

Therefore,  smiling  at  the  humor  of  the  in- 
cident, he  had  to  simulate  a  sternness  he  was 
far  from  feeling  when  he  cried: 

"Stop  making  that  noise!  Who  are  you,  and 
how  did  you  come  to  get  yourself  locked  in  in 
this  way?'* 

"Please  let  me  out!"  came  the  muffled  reply. 
"I'll  explain  everything — I  will,  indeed!" 

Thereupon,  Armathwaite  was  more  surprised 
than  ever.  The  appeal,  though  tearful  and 
husky,  was  precisely  opposite  in  character  to 
that  which  he  anticipated.  He  looked  for  gruff 
entreaty  in  the  accents  of  the  country  of  broad 
acres.  What  he  actually  heard  was  a  cultured 
voice,' a  voice  with  a  singularly  soft  and  musical 
enunciation,  and  its  note  was  of  complaint 
rather  than  petition. 

"All  right!"  he  cried,  hardly  suppressing  a 
laugh.  "I'll  bring  a  chair  and  draw  the  bolt. 
I  suppose  you  can  lower  the  ladder  yourself?" 

"Of  course  I  can — I  drew  it  up!" 

Again,  the  answer  did  not  fit  in  with  the  con- 
ditions. But  Armathwaite  secured  the  same 
chair  which  Walker  had  used,  pressed  the  but- 
ton of  the  electric  torch,  and,  having  forced  the 
bolt  out  of  its  socket,  raised  the  door  a  few 
inches. 


44  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER  ' 

"Catch  hold!"  he  said.  "I'll  show  you  a 
light." 

The  door  was  lifted,  and  he  glimpsed  a  beard- 
less face  peering  from  the  inner  void.  He 
sprang  to  the  floor,  put  the  chair  on  one  side, 
and  awaited  developments.  Soon  the  ladder  ap- 
peared, and  was  adjusted.  Then  came  two  neat 
but  strong  brown  brogues,  with  slim-ankled 
black  stockings  to  match,  and  the  turned-up 
ends  of  a  pair  of  gray,  flannel  trousers.  The 
owner  of  these  articles  of  attire  sat  for  an  in- 
stant on  the  edge  of  the  trap,  as  though  reluct- 
ant to  descend  further,  and  Armathwaite  no- 
ticed, to  his  very  great  bewilderment,  that  the 
black  stockings  were  of  silk. 

"Will  you  kindly  promise  not  to  grab  my  legs 
as  I  come  down?"  said  the  voice. 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  desire  to  grab  your 
legs,  or  your  neck,  for  that  matter,  if  you  behave 
yourself,"  said  Armathwaite. 

"You  don't  understand,  of  course,"  came  the 
curiously  dignified  protest;  "but  I  am  not  mis- 
behaving myself,  and  have  no  intention  of  so 
doing.  This  ridiculous  thing  would  not  have 
happened  if  that  silly  young  fop  had  not  fast- 
ened the  trap-door.  I  can't  imagine  why  he  did 
it.  It  was  no  business  of  his,  at  any  rate.  And 
may  I  ask  who  you  are  ? ' ' 

"I'll  answer  all  polite  inquiries,  and,  it  may 
be,  put  a  few  on  my  own  account,  when  you 


A  MIDNIGHT  SEANCE  45 

favor  me  with  a  closer  view,"  said  Armath- 
waite,  not  without  a  tinge  of  sarcasm  in  his 
politeness. 

"Oh,  this  is  too  stupid  for  words!"  was  the 
petulant  reply,  and  the  speaker  swung  into 
sight.  The  ladder  was  tilted  steeply,  and  the 
steps  were  narrow.  Apparently,  the  young 
gentleman  in  a  gray  flannel  suit  who  material- 
ized in  this  manner  preferred  to  gaze  at  his  res- 
cuer rather  than  adopt  the  safer  method  of 
descent  which  involved  a  momentary  turning 
of  his  back.  Possibly,  too,  he  was  more  nerv- 
ous than  his  remarks  betokened,  for  he  was  yet 
some  distance  from  the  floor  when  the  lower- 
most foot  slipped,  and  he  fell.  The  toe  of  the 
other  foot  caught  in  a  rung,  and  he  was  thrown 
violently  into  Armathwaite  's  arms,  who,  to  save 
him  from  pitching  headlong  downstairs,  had  to 
clutch  him  with  some  force,  whereupon  the  torch 
dropped,  and  the  two  were  enfolded  by  a  pall 
lof  darkness  that  seemed  to  have  an  actual 
quality  of  tangibleness. 

"Oh!"  shrieked  the  youth,  now  thoroughly 
frightened,  "please  don't  hurt  me!  I  haven't 
done  anything  wrong.  I  haven't  really!" 

Armathwaite 's  senses  were  steeped  in  the 
very  essence  of  wonderment ;  he  knew  now  that 
he  was  clasping  a  woman  to  his  breast,  hugging 
her  most  energetically,  too,  and  the  knowledge 
was  at  once  disconcerting  and  irritating.  But 


46  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

he  had  acquired  the  faculty  long  ago  of  remain- 
ing impassive  in  circumstances  calling  for  rigid 
self-control,  so  he  merely  said,  with  curt  reas- 
surance : 

"If  you'll  not  make  such  a  row,  and  stand 
still,  I'll  find  that  confounded  torch  and  shed 
a  light  on  the  situation." 

He  stooped,  and  groped  on  the  floor,  being 
aware  that  the  girl  was  panting  with  ill- 
repressed  alarm  the  while.  Luckily,  his  fing- 
ers soon  closed  on  the  nickel  cylinder,  and 
the  almost  overwhelming  gloom  was  ban- 
ished. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  manage  to  walk 
downstairs  without  stumbling,  or  shall  I  hold 
your  arm?"  he  inquired,  and  the  somewhat 
taunting  question,  no  less  than  his  obvious  dis- 
regard of  his  companion's  terror,  supplied  a 
needed  tonic. 

"The  ladder  was  steep  and  slippery,"  she 
said  tremulously.  "The  stairs  offer  no  diffi- 
culty, so  I  can  dispense  with  your  assistance, 
thanks." 

Certainly  this  young  person's  way  of  ex- 
pressing herself  differed  in  every  essential 
from  her  distinctly  agitated  state.  She  was 
not  yet  aware  of  the  innate  chivalry  of  the  man 
in  refraining  from  thrusting  the  torch  close 
to  her  face  and  staring  at  her,  but  already  her 
panic  was  subsiding,  and  she  turned  and  hur- 


A  MIDNIGHT  SEANCE  47 

ried  away  so  quickly  that  Armathwaite  thought 
she  meant  to  escape. 

"Just  one  moment!"  he  said,  though  not 
making  the  least  effort  to  detain  her  otherwise. 
"Are  there  any  more  of  you  up  here?" 

His  sheer  unconcern  could  not  fail  to  lessen 
her  agitation  still  further,  and  she  halted  on 
the  next  landing. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  cried.  Despite 
her  qualms,  she  still  maintained  a  curious  at- 
titude of  defiance,  as  if  she,  and  not  the  house's 
lawful  tenant,  had  most  cause  to  feel  aggrieved. 

"Exactly  what  I  said.  Were  you  alone  in 
that  attic  f" 

"Of  course  I  was.    What  a  question!" 

"A  natural  one,  from  my  point  of  view.  I 
was  sound  asleep,  when  your  ally,  Betty  Jack- 
son, kicked  up  a  din  in  the  hall,  and  you  began 
pounding  on  the  trap-door." 

"Poor  Betty!    Is  she  here?    Betty!  Betty!" 

Leaning  over  the  banisters,  she  peered  into 
the  blackness  beneath.  There  was  a  glimmer 
of  spectral  light  here,  for  a  late-rising  moon 
was  adding  to  the  silvery  brightness  of  a  per- 
fect night,  and  some  of  its  radiance  was  pierc- 
ing the  stained  glass.  Armathwaite  noted  her 
action  with  increasing  bewilderment. 

"Betty  fled  as  though  she  were  pursued  by 
seven  devils,"  he  said,  when  no  other  answer 
came  to  her  cry.  "I  guessed  at  some  mischief 


48  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

being  afoot,  so  planned  a  surprise  for  anyone 
crossing  the  hall  without  my  knowledge.  No 
matter  what  her  earlier  opinions,  Betty  be- 
lieves in  that  ghost  now." 

" Ghost!  What  ghost?  There  is  no  ghost 
here.  Do  you  think  to  scare  me  with  a  bogey, 
like  a  naughty  child?" 

They  were  descending  the  broad  stairs  of  the 
lower  flight  together,  and  Armathwaite  had 
stolen  one  glance  at  the  lissom  young  figure. 
He  was  minded  to  smile  at  a  cunningly-hidden 
safety  pin  which  kept  a  broad-brimmed  fisher- 
man's hat  of  heather  mixture  cloth  in  position 
so  that  the  girl's  hair  was  concealed.  The  coat 
hung  rather  loosely  on  slender  shoulders,  but 
the  disguise  was  fairly  effective  in  other  re- 
spects, and  the  masquerader  moved  with  an  easy 
grace  that  betokened  a  good  walker. 

"I  have  not  occupied  the  house  many  hours, 
but  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  har- 
bors certain  strange  fantasies,"  he  said,  tak- 
ing the  lead,  and  stopping  to  break  a  thread 
stretched  across  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  "We'll 
find  a  lamp  and  matches  in  the  dining-room," 
he  added.  "Suppose  we  go  there  and  discuss 
matters?" 

1 '  Isn  't  it  rather  late  ?  Whatever  time  is  it  ? " 
was  the  hesitating  comment. 

"And  aren't  you  rather  hungry?"  he  re- 
plied, ignoring  both  questions. 


A  MIDNIGHT  SEANCE  49 

"I'm  simply  ravenous.  I  haven't  eaten  a 
morsel  since  six  o'clock  this  morning." 

"I  can  offer  you  bread  and  butter  and  milk. 
Shall  I  boil  you  some  eggs!" 

"If  you  mention  food  again,  I  shall  drop. 
Please,  what  time  is  it?" 

"Nearly  midnight." 

"Oh,  I  must  be  going!  I  must,  really.  The 
Jacksons  will  find  me  something  to  eat." 

"You're  going  into  that  room,  and,  unless  I 
have  your  promise  to  remain  there,  you'll  ac- 
company me  to  the  kitchen.  Which  is  it  to  be — 
a  comfortable  chair,  with  a  lamp,  or  a  compul- 
sory prowl  through  kitchen  and  larder?" 

"I'll  sit  down,  please,"  came  the  slow  admis- 
sion. "I'm  very  tired,  and  rather  done  up. 
I  wa/ked  miles  and  miles  this  morning,  and 
the  long  hours  up  there  in  the  dark  were 
horrid." 

Without  another  word  Armathwaite  threw 
open  the  dining-room  door,  and  lighted  the 
lamp  which  he  had  left  on  the  table.  The  girl 
sank  wearily  into  an  arm-chair ;  her  action  was 
a  tacit  acceptance  of  his  terms.  Somehow,  he 
was  convinced  that  she  would  not  take  advan- 
tage of  his  absence  and  slip  out  through  the 
front  door,  which  Betty  Jackson  had  assuredly 
not  waited  to  lock. 

Among  the  kitchen  utensils  he  had  found  a 
small  oil-stove  in  working:  order.  In  a  sur- 


50  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

prisingly  short  time,  therefore,  he  was  back  in 
the  dining-room  with  a  laden  tray. 

' 'Do  you  like  your  eggs  soft-boiled,  medium, 
or  hard?"  he  inquired,  treating  an  extraordin- 
ary episode  with  a  nonchalance  which  betok- 
ened either  a  temperament  wholly  devoid  of 
emotion  or  a  career  crowded  with  uncommon 
experiences. 

"Need  I  eat  eggs  at  all?"  said  the  girl. 
"I'm  sure,  Mrs.  Jackson 

"Do  you  want  to  rouse  the  village?" 


?  > 


"  No ;  anything  but  that. ' 

"Then  I  must  point  out  that  the  one  cottage 
in  Elmdale  whose  inmates  will  be  deaf  and 
dumb  at  this  moment  is  Mrs.  Jackson's.  Both 
mother  and  daughter  are  quaking  because  of 
the  possible  consequences  of  an  attempt  to  enter 
this  house  at  an  hour  which  no  person  could 
choose  for  a  legitimate  purpose.  Eat  and 
drink,  therefore.  We'll  deal  with  the  Jacksons 
subsequently.  No,  don't  begin  by  a  long 
draught  of  milk.  It  is  tempting,  but  harmful  if 
taken  in  that  way.  Try  some  bread  and  butter. 
Now,  two  eggs.  Oh,  dash  it!  I've  forgotten 
an  egg-spoon,  and  I  don't  know  where  such 
things  are  kept.  I'll  go  and  hunt  for  them." 

"Don't  trouble.  Lend  me  that  electric 
lamp — how  useful  it  is! — and  I'll  bring  one  in 
a  minute." 

By  this  time  Armathwaite  had  seen  that  his 


A  MIDNIGHT  SEANCE  51 

captive  was  a  remarkably  pretty  girl.  Male 
attire  supplies  the  severest  test  of  feminine 
beauty,  since  form  and  feature  are  deprived  of 
adventitious  aids;  but  a  small,  oval  face,  two 
pouting  lips,  a  finely-modeled  nose,  brilliant 
brown  eyes,  swept  by  long  curved  lashes,  and  a 
smooth  forehead,  rising  above  arched  and 
well-marked  eyebrows,  needed  no  art  of  mil- 
liner or  dressmaker  to  enhance  their  charms. 
She  was  fairly  tall,  too — though  dwarfed  by 
Armathwaite 's  six  feet  and  an  inch  of  height 
in  his  slippered  feet — and  admirably  propor- 
tioned, if  slender  find  lithe.  Evidently,  she 
thought  he  had  not  penetrated  her  disguise, 
and  was  momentarily  becoming  more  self- 
possessed.  Again,  she  had  some  explanation 
of  her  presence  in  the  house  which  could  not 
fail  of  acceptance,  and  did  not  scruple,  there- 
fore, to  display  a  close  acquaintance  with  its 
arrangements  denied  to  one  who  admittedly 
had  taken  up  his  abode  there  only  that  day. 

The  man  listened  to  her  quick,  confident 
steps  going  to  the  kitchen,  heard  the  rattle 
of  a  drawer  in  an  antique  dresser  which  stood 
there,  and,  with  an  emphatic  gesture,  seemed 
to  appeal  to  the  gods  ere  he  bent  over  the  stove 
to  see  if  the  water  was  yet  a-boil. 

The  girl  might  be  hungry,  but  feminine 
curiosity  proved  stronger  than  the  urgent 
claims  of  an  empty  stomach.  She  went  into 


r* 


52  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

the  larder,  and  undoubtedly  eyed  the  new  ten- 
ant's stores.  She  implied  as  much  when  she 
re-entered  the  dining-room. 

''Boiled  eggs  require  pepper  and  salt,"  she 
explained.  "You've  got  so  many  little  paper 
bags  that  I  didn't  dare  rummage  among  them, 
so  I've  secured  a  cruet  which  was  left  here 
when  my — when  the  people  who  used  to  live 
here  went  away.  The  salt  may  be  a  bit  damp, 
but  the  pepper  should  be  all  right." 

Without  more  ado  she  tackled  a  slice  of 
bread,  breaking  it  into  small  pieces,  and  but- 
tering each  piece  separately  before  munching 
it. 

"Some  wise  person  said  in  a  newspaper  the 
other  day  that  one  ought  to  give  every  mouth- 
ful of  bread  three  hundred  bites,"  she  went 
on.  "I  wonder  if  he  ever  fasted  eighteen 
hours  before  practicing  his  own  precept.  I'm 
afraid  I  wouldn't  believe  him  if  he  said  he 
did." 

"People  who  study  their  digestion  generally 
die  young,"  said  Armathwaite  drily. 

"Oh,  I  don't  agree  with  you  in  that,"  she 
retorted.  "My  dad  is  great  on  food  theories. 
He  knows  all  about  proteins  and  carbohyd- 
rates; he  can  tell  you  to  a  fourth  decimal  the 
caloric  value  of  an  egg;  and  he's  a  phenomen- 
ally healthy  person.  By  the  way,  how  are  those 
eggs  coming  on?" 


A  MIDNIGHT  SEANCE  53 

"Try  this  one.  I  think  the  water  has  been 
boiling  three  minutes!" 

Armathwaite  spoke  calmly  enough,  but  a 
stoutly-built  edifice  of  circumstantial  evidence 
had  just  crumbled  in  ruins  about  his  ears.  He 
was  persuaded  that,  for  some  reason  best 
known  to  herself,  Miss  Marguerite  Garth  had 
adopted  this  freakish  method  of  revisiting  her 
old  home.  Such  a  thesis  made  all  things  plaus- 
ible. It  explained  her  singularly  self-contained 
pose,  her  knowledge  of  the  house's  contents, 
her  wish  to  remain  hidden  from  prying  eyes, 
and,  last  but  not  least,  it  brought  the  peculiar 
conduct  of  the  Jackson  family  into  a  common- 
place category,  for  the  two  women  would  be 
governed  by  a  clannish  feeling  which  is  almost 
as  powerful  in  rural  Yorkshire  as  in  Scotland. 
A  girl  who  had  lived  nearly  all  her  life  in  the 
village  would  be  looked  on  as  a  native.  She 
might  appeal  confidently  for  their  help  and 
connivance  in  such  a  matter. 

But  this  girl's  father  was  alive,  and  Mar- 
guerite Garth's  father  had  been  in  a  suicide's 
grave  two  years.  Who,  then,  was  the  auda- 
cious young  lady  now  assuring  him  that  he 
could  boil  eggs  admirably?  He  was  puzzled 
anew,  almost  piqued,  because  he  flattered  him- 
self on  a  faculty  for  guessing  accurately  at  the 
contents  of  a  good  many  closed  pages  in  a 
human  document  after  a  glance  at  the  outer 


54  TEE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

cover  and  its  endorsement.  He  was  spurred 
to  fresh  endeavor.  He  wanted  to  solve  this 
riddle  before  its  baffling  intricacies  were  made 
plain  by  the  all-satisfying  statement  which  his 
companion  obviously  had  it  in  mind  to  give. 

"Won't  you  remove  your  hat?"  he  said, 
thinking  to  perplex  her  by  a  mischievous  re- 
quest. 

"No,  thanks,"  she  said  blithely.  "I'll  just 
demolish  this  second  egg.  Then  I'll  tell  you 
why  I  am  here,  and  awaken  Mrs.  Jackson,  no 
matter  what  her  neighbors  may  think.  But, 
why  wait?  I  can  eat  and  talk — put  the  facts 
in  an  eggshell,  so  to  speak.  My  relatives  own 
this  house.  Mr.  Garth  has  long  wanted  a  few 
books  and  knick-knacks,  and  I've  come  to  get 
them.  Some  are  collected  already  on  the 
library  table;  the  remainder  I'll  gather  in  the 
morning,  with  your  permission.  But  I  don't 
wish  my  visit  to  be  known  to  others  than  Mrs. 
Jackson  and  Betty,  and  that  is  why  I  retreated 
to  the  loft  when  you  and  Mr.  Walker  arrived. 
It  was  a  bother  that  anyone  should  select  this 
day  in  particular  to  visit  the  property;  but  I 
imagined  you  would  go  away  in  an  hour  or  so. 
Even  when  that  vain  young  person,  James 
Walker,  locked  me  in,  I  believed  Betty  would 
come  and  release  me  after  your  departure.  Be- 
sides, I  wouldn't  for  worlds  have  let  Walker 
see  me.  I — er — dislike  him  too  much." 


A  MIDNIGHT  SEANCE  55 

Armathwaite  allowed  to  pass  without  com- 
ment her  real  motive  for  refusing  to  meet 
sharp-eyed  James  Walker ;  but  again  the  prob- 
lem of  her  identity  called  insistently  for  solu- 
tion. If  she  was  not  Marguerite  Garth,  who 
on  earth  was  she? 

"Let  me  understand,"  he  began.  "The 
owner,  and  former  occupant,  of  this  house, 
was  Mr.  Stephen  Garth?" 

"Is,"  she  corrected.  "It  remains  his  prop- 
erty, though  he  is  living  elsewhere." 

Armathwaite  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to 
whistle  softly  between  his  teeth.  And,  indeed, 
such  momentary  impoliteness  might  be  ex- 
cused by  his  bewilderment.  If  Stephen  Garth, 
who  had  owned  and  occupied  the  Grange,  was 
still  living,  who  was  the  man  whose  ghost 
had  excited  Elmdale,  and  driven  back  to 
prosaic  Sheffield  a  certain  Mrs.  Wilkins,  of 
nervous  disposition  and  excitable  habit? 

"Ah!"  he  said  judicially.  "Messrs.  Walker 
&  Son,  of  Nuttonby,  are  his  agents  and  Messrs. 
Holloway  &  Dobb,  also  of  Nuttonby,  his  soli- 
citors?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  the  girl,  deep  in  the 
second  egg. 

"But  I  understood  that  Mr.  Stephen  Garth 
had  only  one  child,  a  daughter." 

"Isn't  he  allowed  to  have  a  nephew,  or  an 
assorted  lot  of  cousins?" 


56  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"Such  contingencies  are  permissible,  but 
they  don't  meet  the  present  case." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because,  my  dear  young  lady,  anyone  with 
half  an  eye  in  their  head  could  see  that  you 
are  a  girl  masquerading  in  a  man's  clothes. 
Now,  who  are  you?  I  am  entitled  to  ask.  I 
have  certain  legal  rights  as  the  tenant  of  this 
house  during  the  forthcoming  three  months, 
and  as  you  have  broken  the  law  in  more  ways 
than  you  imagine,  perhaps,  I  want  to  be  en- 
lightened before  I  condone  your  various  of- 
fenses." 

The  girl  was  holding  a  glass  of  milk  to  her 
lips,  and  drank  slowly  until  the  glass  was 
emptied;  but  her  eyes  met  Armathwaite 's 
over  the  rim,  and  they  were  dilated  with 
apprehension,  for  a  heedless  prank  was 
spreading  into  realms  she  had  never  dreamed  of. 

"Does  it  really  matter  who  I  am?"  she 
managed  to  say  quietly,  though  there  was  a 
pitiful  flutter  in  her  voice,  and  the  hand  which 
replaced  the  tumbler  on  the  table  shook  per- 
ceptibly. 

"Yes,  it  matters  a  great  deal,"  he  said. 
With  a  generosity  that  was  now  beginning  to 
dawn  on  her,  he  averted  his  gaze,  and  scrutin- 
ized a  colored  print  on  the  wall. 

"But  why?"  she  persisted. 


A  MIDNIGHT  SEANCE  57 

"Because  I  am  convinced  that  you  are  Mr. 
Stephen  Garth's  daughter." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  he  was  aware 
instantly  that  she  was  hovering  on  the  verge 
of  candid  confession.  She  moved  uneasily, 
propped  her  elbows  on  the  table,  and  con- 
cealed some  part  of  her  features  by  placing 
her  clenched  fists  against  her  cheeks. 

"Well,  what  if  I  am?"  she  said  at  last, 
with  a  touch  of  the  earlier  defiance  in  her 
voice. 

"Are  you?     Please  answer  outright." 

"Yes." 

"And  your  father  is  alive?" 

"Of  course  he  is!" 

"Mother,  too?" 

"Yes." 

1 '  Do  they  know  you  are  here  ? ' ' 

"No.  For  some  reason,  they  have  taken  a 
dislike  to  Elmdale,  and  hardly  ever  mention 
it,  or  the  Grange,  for  that  matter.  Yet  my 
poor  old  dad  is  such  a  creature  of  habit  that 
he  is  always  missing  something— a  book,  a 
favorite  picture,  a  bit  of  china,  and  I  schemed 
to  come  here,  pack  a  few  of  the  articles  he 
most  values,  and  have  them  sent  to  our  cot- 
tage in  Cornwall.  Once  they're  there,  they 
couldn't  very  well  be  sent  back,  could  they? 
But  as  my  people  have  forbidden  me  ever  to 


58  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

speak  of  or  come  near  Elmdale,  I  didn't  quite 
know  how  to  manage  it,  until  I  hit  on  the  no- 
tion of  impersonating  Percy  Whittaker,  the 
brother  of  a  friend  with  whom  I  have  been 
staying  in  Cheshire.  Percy  would  do  any- 
thing for  me,  but  there  was  no  sense  in  send- 
ing him,  was  there?  He  would  be  sure  to 
bungle  things  awfully,  so  I  borrowed  his  togs, 
and  traveled  all  night  to  a  station  on  the 
other  side  of  the  moor — and  nobody — thought 
— I  was — a  girl — except  you — and  Betty,  of 
course.  She — knew  me — at  once." 

"For  goodness'  sake,  don't  cry.  I  believe 
you — every  word.  But  did  you  travel  from 
Cheshire  in  that  rig-out?" 

"No,  oh,  no!  I  wore  a  mackintosh,  and  a 
lady's  hat.  They're  hanging  in  the  hall.  I 
took  them  off  while  crossing  the  moor." 

"A  mackintosh!" 

"Yes.  Don't  be  horrid!  I  turned  up  my 
trousers,  of  course." 

"I'm  not  being  horrid.  I  want  to  help  you. 
You  walked — how  many  miles?" 

"Fourteen." 

"And  breakfasted  at  York?" 

"Yes.  You  see,  Betty  would  have  brought 
me  some  lunch.  Then  you  came." 

"The  bedroom  was  prepared  for  your  use, 
then?" 

"Yes.     It's   my   room,   really.     Dad  likes 


A  MIDNIGHT  SEANCE  59 

to  sleep  with  his  head  to  the  west,  and  that 
is  where  the  door  is  in  that  room." 

"Poor  girl!  I  would  have  given  a  good 
deal  that  this  thing  should  not  have  happened. 
But  we  must  make  the  best  of  a  bad  job. 
Now,  I  hope  you'll  accept  my  advice.  Let 
me  go  upstairs  and  remove  the  clothes  I  shall 
need  in  the  morning.  Then  you  retire  there, 
lock  the  door,  and  sleep  well  'till  Betty 
comes." 

"Oh,  I  can't!  You  are  very  kind,  but  I 
must  go  to  Mrs.  Jackson  now." 

She  had  blushed  and  paled  in  alternate  sec- 
onds. Half  rising,  she  sank  back  into  the 
chair  again;  though  the  table  was  between 
them,  the  wearing  of  a  boy's  clothes  was  not 
quite  so  easy  a  matter  as  it  had  seemed  ear- 
lier. The  one  thing  she  did  not  guess  was 
that  this  serious-faced  man  was  far  more 
troubled  by  thoughts  of  a  reputed  ghost  than 
by  an  escapade  which  now  loomed  large  in 
her  mind. 

"I'm  half  inclined  to  make  you  obey  me," 
he  said  angrily,  gazing  at  her  now  with  fixed 
and  troubled  eyes. 

"But  you've  been  so  good  and  kind,"  she 
almost  sobbed.  "Why  should  you  be  vexed 
with  me  now?  I've  told  you  the  truth,  I 
have,  indeed." 

"That  is   precisely  the  reason  why  I  am 


60  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

sure  you  ought  not  to  risk  arousing  the  vil- 
lage to-night." 

"But  I  won't.  I'll  tap  at  the  window. 
Betty  knows  I'm  here,  somewhere,  and  she'll 
let  me  in  at  once." 

Armathwaite  was  at  his  wits  end  to  decide 
on  the  sanest  course.  A  man  less  versed  tha-n 
he  in  the  complexities  of  life  would  have 
counseled  her  retreat  to  the  cottage  as  the 
only  practicable  means  of  escape  from  a 
position  bristling  with  difficulties;  but  some 
subtle  and  intuitive  sense  warned  him  that 
Marguerite  Garth  should,  if  possible,  leave 
Elmdale  without  the  knowledge  which  credited 
that  house  with  a  veritable  ghost. 

"It's  long  after  midnight,"  he  persisted. 
"I'll  have  a  snooze  in  a  chair,  and  meet  Betty 
Jackson  before  you  show  up.  You  can  trust 
me  absolutely  to  explain  things  to  her." 

"You  forget  that  she  is  worrying  dread- 
fully about  me.  Please  let  me  go!" 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  driven  to  the  half 
measures  he  had  learnt  to  detest.  "Promise 
me  this — that  you'll  go  straight  to  bed,  and 
come  here  for  breakfast  without  any  conversa- 
tion with  the  Jacksons." 

The  girl  showed  her  relief,  not  unmixed 
with  surprise  at  a  strangely-worded  stipula- 
tion. 

"I'll  do  that,"  she  said,  after  a  little  pause. 


A  MIDNIGHT  SEANCE  61 

"Mind  you — no  talk.  Just  'Good-night, 
I'm  dead  tired,'  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Yes,"  she  agreed  again,  wonderingly. 

"And  the  same  in  the  morning?" 

"I'll  do  my  best." 

"Off  with  you,  then!  1*11  come  to  the  door, 
and  stand  there,  in  case  you're  challenged  by 
anybody. ' ' 

"There's  little  fear  of  that  in  Elmdale  at 
this  hour,"  she  said,  with  a  new  cheerfulness. 
He  turned,  ostensibly  to  pick  up  the  electric 
torch.  She  was  out  in  the  hall  instantly; 
when  he  rejoined  her  she  was  wearing  the 
mackintosh. 

"Good-night!"  she  said.  "Next  to  dad, 
you're  the  nicest  man  I've  ever  met,  and  I 
don't  even  know  your  name." 

"I'll  introduce  myself  at  breakfast,"  he 
growled,  extinguishing  the  torch  as  he  opened 
the  door.  He  watched  her  swift  run  down 
the  curving  path  to  the  gate,  and  heard  her* 
footsteps  as  she  hurried  into  the  village 
street.  The  night  was  so  still  that  he  knew 
when  she  turned  into  the  front  garden  of  the 
cottage,  and  he  caught  the  tapping  on  a  win- 
dow, which,  beginning  timidly,  soon  grew 
more  emphatic,  perhaps  more  desperate. 

Some  minutes  passed.  He  could  see  the 
back  of  the  cottage,  and  no  gleam  of  light 
shone  in  any  of  its  tiny  windows.  Then  fol- 


62  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

lowed  some  decided  thumping  on  a  door,  but 
the  tenement  might  have  been  an  empty  barn 
for  all  the  response  that  was  forthcoming. 

Finally,  he  was  aware  of  slow  feet  climbing 
dejectedly  up  the  hill,  and  the  garden  gate 
creaked. 

"I  can't  make  anybody  hear,"  wailed  a 
tearful  voice. 

Armathwaite  was  even  more  surprised  than 
the  girl  at  this  dramatic  verification  of  his 
prophecy,  but  he  availed  himself  of  it  as  un- 
scrupulously as  any  Delphic  oracle. 

"I  told  you  so,"  he  said.  "Now,  come  in 
and  go  to  bed!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

SHOWING     HOW     EXPLANATIONS     DO     NOT     ALWAYS 
EXPLAIN 

THOUGH  weary  and  distrait,  Marguerite  Garth 
was  of  too  frank  a  disposition  to  allow  such 
an  extraordinary  incident  to  pass  without  com- 
ment. She  halted  in  the  porch  by  Armath- 
waite's  side,  and  gazed  blankly  at  the  silent 
cottage. 

"You  spoke  of  a  ghost,"  she  murmured 
brokenly.  "I'm  beginning  to  think  myself 
that  I  am  bewitched.  "What  can  have  hap- 
pened? Why  won't  Betty  or  her  mother  let 
me  in?" 

"I'll  have  much  pleasure  in  clearing  up  that 
trivial  mystery  about  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning,"  he  said  with  due  gravity,  fearing 
lest  any  attempt  to  relieve  the  situation  by  a 
joke  might  have  the  disastrous  effect  often 
achieved  by  a  would-be  humorist  when  a  per- 
plexed woman  on  the  verge  of  tears  is  the 
subject  of  his  wit.  "Now,  if  you'll  wait  in 
the  dining-room  till  I  collect  my  garments, 
you'll  be  in  bed  and  asleep  within  five 
minutes." 

63 


64  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

He  gave  her  no  further  opportunity  for 
argument  or  protestation.  Closing  and  lock- 
ing the  door,  he  left  the  key  in  the  lock, 
whereas,  by  virtue  of  the  arrangement  with 
Betty  Jackson,  it  had  reposed  previously  on 
the  hall-table.  In  a  few  seconds  he  bustled 
in  with  an  armful  of  clothes  and  a  pair  of 
boots.  Handing  over  the  torch,  he  said  cheer- 
fully: 

"Now,  leave  everything  to  me,  and  you'll 
be  astonished  to  find  how  all  your  woes  will 
vanish  by  daylight.  Good-night,  and  sleep 
well!" 

Then  the  girl  did  a  strange  thing.  She 
held  the  torch  close  to  his  face,  and  looked 
at  him  unflinchingly. 

"I  am  very  fortunate  in  having  met  a  man 
like  you,"  she  said,  and,  without  another 
word,  turned  and  mounted  the  stairs.  He 
waited  until  the  bedroom  door  closed,  and 
listened  for  the  click  of  a  lock,  but  listened  in 
vain. 

"It  would  appear  that  I'm  still  able  to  win 
the  confidence  of  children  and  dogs,"  he  mut- 
tered, smiling  grimly.  Then  he  made  a  pillow 
of  his  clothes  on  a  couch  beneath  the  window, 
and,  such  was  the  force  of  habit,  was  asleep 
quite  soon.  A  glint  of  sunlight  reflected  from 
the  glass  in  a  picture  woke  him  at  four 
o'clock.  After  glancing  at  his  watch,  he 


EXPLANATIONS  65 

slept  again,  and  was  aroused  the  next  time 
by  the  crunch  of  feet  on  the  graveled  path 
outside.  He  was  at  the  door  while  Betty  Jack- 
son was  yet  trying  to  insert  the  key  which 
she  had  withdrawn  and  pocketed  overnight. 

He  admitted  her,  and  said  good-humoredly : 

"I  came  downstairs  when  you  ran  away 
from  a  goblin  gong,  leaving  the  door  un- 
locked. I  don't  suppose  we  are  in  danger  of 
burglary  in  Elmdale,  but  it  is  customary  to 
take  reasonable  precautions. " 

Betty,  who  was  carrying  a  jug  of  milk, 
flushed  till  her  cheeks  resembled  a  ripe  russet 
apple.  Denial  was  useless,  but  she  tried  to 
wriggle. 

"I  didn't  mean  any  harm,  sir,"  she  said. 
"I  only  wanted  to  have  a  look  around.  The 
house  is  so  upset." 

"Put  that  milk  on  the  dining-room  table," 
he  said. 

She  obeyed,  glad  that  a  dreaded  ordeal 
seemed  to  have  ended  ere  it  had  well  begun. 
Armathwaite  followed,  and  closed  the  dining- 
room  door.  What  he  really  feared  was  that 
she  might  drop  the  jug,  and  that  the  result- 
ant crash  would  awaken  his  guest  before 
Betty  and  he  had  engaged  in  a  heart-to-heart 
talk. 

"Now,"  he  said,  raising  the  blind,  and 
flooding  the  room  with  clear  morning  light, 


66  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"I    take    you    for    a    sensible    girl,    Betty." 

"I  hope  I  am,  sir,"  she  answered  shyly. 

1 1  Have  you  quite  reco\*ered  from  your 
fright?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

She  reddened  again,  thinking  she  knew 
what  was  coming.  She  could  have  dealt  with 
Walker,  but  glib  pertness  would  not  avail 
when  this  tall  stranger's  eyes  were  piercing 
her  very  soul.  Nevertheless,  his  tone  was 
gentle  and  reassuring — at  first. 

"I  was  ignorant  of  the  real  facts,  you  see, 
so  I  had  to  defend  myself,"  he  said.  "I 
know  the  truth  now.  Miss  Garth  is  upstairs 
and  asleep.  She  heard  the  commotion  caused 
by  the  gong,  and  could  not  endure  the  strain 
and  loneliness  of  that  dark  garret  any 
longer — " 

"Was  Miss  Meg  there — in  the  loft?"  cried 
Betty,  blurting  out  the  first  vague  thought 
that  occurred  to  her  bemused  brain,  because 
those  words,  "Miss  Garth  is  upstairs  and 
asleep,"  swamped  her  understanding  with  a 
veritable  torrent  of  significance. 

"Yes.  She  hid  there  when  Mr.  Walker  and 
I  entered  the  house,  and,  by  the  merest 
chance,  she  was  fastened  in.  She  remained 
there  twelve  hours." 

"Oh,  poor  thing!  She'd  be  nearly  clemmed 
to  death." 


EXPLANATIONS  67 

In  Yorkshire,  "clemmed"  means  "starved," 
and  "starved"  means  "perished  with  cold." 
Armathwaite  could  follow  many  of  the  vernac- 
ular phrases,  and  this  one  did  not  bother 
him. 

"She  was  hungry,  without  doubt,"  he  said, 
"but  I  did  not  send  her  supperless  to  bed. 
Now,  I  have  various  questions  to  put  before 
you  go  to  her  room,  and  I  want  straightfor- 
ward, honest  answers.  If  I  am  told  the  truth, 
I  shall  know  how  to  act  for  the  best  in  Miss 
Garth's  interests;  and  that  is  what  you  wish, 
I  suppose!" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!  I'm  sure  none  of  us  had 
any  notion  of  doing  wrong." 

"Don't  speak  so  loudly.  I  want  no  ex- 
planations of  your  behavior  yesterday.  It 
would  have  been  wise  had  you  trusted  in  me 
at  once,  but  that  was  hardly  to  be  expected, 
seeing  that  I  was  a  man  fallen  from  the  moon. 
...  Why  didn't  you  let  Miss  Garth  enter 
when  she  knocked  at  your  window  and  the 
door  last  night?" 

The  girl's  eyes  opened  wide  in  sheer  dis- 
tress. 

"Oh,  sir!"  she  almost  whispered;  "what 
time  did  she  come?" 

"About  midnight." 

"There  now!  I  half  fancied  that  such  a 
thing  might  happen.  When  I  ran  home,  sir, 


68  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER  N 

I  was  fair  scairt,  because  there  has  been  talk 
of  a  ghost,  and  I  wasn't  too  keen  about  com- 
ing in  here  in  the  dark.  But  mother  was 
worried,  and  wouldn't  go  to  bed.  She  would 
have  it  that  Miss  Meg  had  got  clear  of  the 
house,  and  was  hiding  in  a  shed  at  the  top 
of  the  lane.  So,  after  a  lot  of  talk,  mother 
and  I  went  there  together.  There  was  a  light 
in  the  dining-room  as  we  passed,  but  it  had 
gone  out  when  we  came  back." 

"Solvitur  ambulando,"  muttered  the  man, 
smiling  at  the  simple  solution  of  an  occur- 
rence which  had  puzzled  him  greatly  at  the 
time. 

"What's  that,  sir?"  demanded  Betty. 

"Sorry.  I  was  thinking  aloud — a  bad  habit. 
Those  two  Latin  words  mean  that  your  walk 
to  the  shed  disposes  of  a  difficulty.  Now  for 
the  next  item,  Betty.  Miss  Meg,  as  you  call 
her,  is  the  young  lady  who  lived  here  a  good 
many  years?" 

"She  was  born  here,  sir.  She  and  I  are 
nearly  of  an  age — twenty-two,  each  of  us." 

"And  her  father  was  Mr.  Stephen  Garth?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"But  isn't  he  dead?'" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!  Dead  and  buried  two  years 
this  very  month." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Mother  was  the  first  who  saw 


EXPLANATIONS  69 

his  dead  body.  She  was  nearly  frightened 
into  a  fit." 

1  'Tell  me  the  exact  facts.'* 

"Well,  sir,  Mrs.  Garth  and  Miss  Meg  went 
away,  all  of  a  sudden.  There  was  no  quarrel 
that  we  know  of,  and  Mr.  Garth  himself 
helped  a  man  to  carry  out  their  boxes.  They 
kissed  on  parting  at  the  gate.  I  myself  heard 
him  saying  that  he  would  join  them  as  soon 
as  he  had  finished  some  book  he  was  busy 
with.  He  was  a  great  man  for  writing  and 
studying,  and  he'd  walk  ten  miles  to  get  some 
granny's  tale  about  dales  ways,  and  the 
things  people  used  to  do  in  the  old  times. 
But  no  sooner  had  they  left  him  than  he 
changed.  We  all  noticed  it.  He  paid  off  the 
gardener,  and  dismissed  two  maids,  and  lived 
here  alone.  That  didn't  last  long.  I  used  to 
bring  eggs  and  milk  and  things,  and  he'd 
take  them  in  at  the  door.  He'd  talk  pleas- 
antly enough,  but  he  looked  awful  worried. 
Then,  one  morning,  I  couldn't  make  anybody 
hear,  and  I  thought  he  had  gone  out  early. 
About  seven  o'clock  that  evening  mother  went 
and  knocked,  but  there  was  no  answer.  Next 
morning  it  was  the  same;  but  when  mother 
and  I  tried  again  in  the  evening,  we  noticed 
that  the  curtain,  which  can  be  drawn  across 
the  glass  top  of  the  door,  had  been  pulled 
aside.  At  the  inquest  they  wanted  to  know  if 


70  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER  * 

it  had  been  in  the  same  position  when  we 
were  there  before,  but  we  couldn't  be  certain, 
though  we  thought  it  must  have  been  drawn. 
Anyhow,  mother  looked  in,  and  ran  away 
screaming,  and  I  ran  after  her,  not  knowing 
why.  In  a  minute  or  two  she  was  able  to 
speak,  and  said  she  had  seen  Mr.  Garth  hang- 
ing near  the  clock.  Some  men  went,  and  they 
saw  him  clearly,  and  one  of  them,  Mr.  Ben- 
son, rode  to  Bellerby  for  the  policeman.  He 
came  in  about  an  hour,  and  broke  open  the 
door,  and  cut  poor  Mr.  Garth  down.  He  had 
been  dead  a  long  time,  the  doctor  said,  and 
the  worst  thing  was  that  nobody  could  find 
Mrs.  Garth  and  Miss  Meg.  Not  that  any 
blame  could  be  laid  to  them,  because  Mr. 
Garth  himself  said  so  in  a  letter  addressed 
'To  the  Coroner,'  which  was  laid  at  the  foot 
of  the  clock.  We  have  a  weekly  paper  in  the 
cottage,  sir,  and  you  can  see  the  whole  ac- 
count there." 

"Get  that  paper,  and  give  it  to  me  privately 
sometime  to-day,"  said  Armathwaite.  "Mean- 
while, your  story  is  ample  for  my  present 
purpose.  Were  you  surprised  at  seeing  Miss 
Garth  yesterday!" 

"Sir,  you  could  have  knocked  me  down  with 
a  feather.  And  she  in  a  man's  clothes,  and 
all.  She  came  over  the  moor  about  ten 
o'clock — " 


EXPLANATIONS  71 

11  Never  mind  the  details  now.  Did  she 
speak  of  her  father?" 

"In  a  sort  of  a  way,  sir." 

"Did  she  give  you  the  impression  that  he 
was  still  living?" 

"Now  that  you  mention  it,  sir,  she  did,  but 
I  couldn't  quite  understand  what  she  said, 
and  thought,  for  sure,  I  was  mistaken.  It 
wasn't  the  kind  of  thing  one  might  ask  ques- 
tions about — was  it,  sir?" 

"No,  indeed.  Knowing  he  had  committed 
suicide,  you  didn't  like  to  hurt  her  feelings?" 

"That's  it,  sir,  exactly." 

"You  hadn't  much  talk,  I  take  it?" 

"No,  sir.  She  was  all  of  a  shake  with  ex- 
citement, and  wanted  to  be  let  into  the  house 
before  anyone  else  in  the  village  could  see 
her.  I  was  to  leave  her  alone  till  one  o'clock, 
she  said.  Then  I  was  to  bring  her  something 
to  eat,  and  we'd  have  a  long  chat.  And  that's 
the  last  I've  seen  of  her,  sir." 

It  has  been  noted  that  Armathwaite  was  no 
lover  of  the  middle  way  in  dealing  with  the 
hazards  of  existence.  In  fact,  strength  of 
will  and  inflexibility  of  purpose  had  already 
driven  him  from  place  and  power  to  the 
haven  of  retirement,  which  he  imagined  he 
would  find  in  Elmdale.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind  overnight  as  to  the  handling  of  the 
problem  set  by  Marguerite  Garth's  presence 


72  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

in  her  father's  house,  and  he  saw  no  reason 
now  why  he  should  depart  from  the  decision 
reached  then. 

"You've  been  very  candid,  Betty  Jackson," 
he  said,  looking  steadily  into  the  girl's  won- 
dering eyes,  "and  I  mean  to  be  equally  out- 
spoken with  you.  For  some  cause,  which  I 
cannot  fathom,  and  may  never  inquire  into, 
Miss  Garth  is  not  only  unaware  of  any  recent 
death  in  her  family,  but  is  convinced  that  her 
father  is  alive  and  well.  There  is  a  flaw  in 
the  argument  somewhere,  but  it  is  hardly  my 
business,  nor  yours,  to  discover  the  weak  spot. 
Now,  I  propose  that  we  let  the  young  lady 
leave  Elmdale  as  happy  in  her  belief,  or  her 
ignorance,  as  she  entered  it.  In  plain  Eng- 
lish, I  suggest  that  neither  you,  nor  I,  nor 
your  mother,  say  one  syllable  about  the  sui- 
cide of  Mr.  Stephen  Garth.  If  his  daughter 
believes  he  is  living,  we  should  be  hard  put 
to  it  to  convince  her  that  he  is  dead." 

"He  is  dead,  sir.  I  saw  him  in  his  cof- 
fin," said  Betty  earnestly. 

"I  am  not  disputing  your  statement.  My 
sole  consideration,  at  this  moment,  is  the  hap- 
piness of  the  girl  now  lying  asleep  upstairs. 
Suppose,  within  the  next  hour  or  two,  she 
says  something  about  the  surprise  her  father 
will  receive  when  he  sees  some  of  the  books 
and  other  articles  she  means  to  send  to  her 


EXPLANATIONS  73 

present  home,  are  you  going  to  tell  her  that 
she  is  utterly  mistaken — that  Mr.  Garth  has 
been  dead  and  buried — that  she  is  talking  like 
a  lunatic?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir!  I  wouldn't  dream  of  speak- 
ing that  way  to  Miss  Meg." 

"But  don't  you  see,  it  has  to  be  either  one 
thing  or  the  other.  Either  you  accept  her 
view  that  her  father  is  alive,  or  you  are  con- 
stantly acting  in  a  way  that  must  arouse  her 
suspicions.  And,  if  o^ice  she  begins  to  ques- 
tion you,  what  will  happen  then?  You'll  be 
in  a  ten  times  more  difficult  position  than  if 
you  convince  yourself,  for  the  time  being,  that 
you  were  dreaming  when  you  saw  some  man 
in  a  coffin." 

"But  I  wasn't,"  persisted  Betty.  "Why, 
sir,  the  whole  village  knows 

"I'm  not  doubting  your  word  in  the  least. 
The  point  at  issue  is  this — do  you  mean  to 
perplex  and  worry  Miss  Meg  by  informing  her 
that  her  father  hanged  himself  in  the  hall  of 
this  very  house  two  years  ago  ? ' ' 

"No,  sir.     That  I  don't." 

"You  promise  that?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"I'm  glad  you've  come  to  my  way  of  think- 
ing. Miss  Garth  will  leave  here  to-day,  or  to- 
morrow, at  the  latest.  Till  then,  you  must  keep 
guard  over  your  tongue.  Go  now,  and  tell 


74  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

your  mother  what  I  have  told  you.  Make  her 
understand  the  facts  most  clearly.  If  she 
agrees  to  help  you  and  me  in  this  matter,  she 
is  to  come  here  and  take  up  a  housekeeper's 
duties.  I'll  pay  her  and  you  well  for  your 
services,  but  my  instructions  must  be  carried 
out  to  the  letter.  If  she  refuses,  or  feels  un- 
able, to  obey  my  wishes  in  this  matter,  she  is 
not  to  cross  the  threshold.  Do  you  under- 
stand that  fully?" 

Armathwaite  could  be  tersely  emphatic  in 
speech  and  manner  when  he  chose.  He  had 
taken  Betty  Jackson  into  his  confidence,  but 
he  had  also  expressed  his  intentions  in  a  way 
that  left  her  in  no  doubt  as  to  the  result  if 
any  lack  of  discretion  on  her  part,  or  her  moth- 
er's, led  to  a  crisis.  He  had  gauged  the 
situation  to  a  nicety.  Mrs.  Jackson  and  her 
daughter  were  well  disposed  towards  Mar- 
guerite Garth,  but  there  was  no  harm  in  still- 
ing their  tongues  through  the  forceful  medium 
of  self-interest. 

When  the  two  came  back  together  within  a 
few  minutes  he  knew  that  he  had  swept  im- 
mediate obstacles  from  the  path.  Mrs.  Jack- 
son was  a  shrewd  Yorkshire  woman,  and 
needed  no  blare  of  trumpets  to  inform  her  on 
which  side  her  bread  was  buttered. 

1  'Good  morning,  sir,"  she  cried  cheerfully. 
"  Betty  has  told  me  what  you  said,  and  I  think 


EXPLANATIONS  75 

you're  quite  right.  What  time  do  you  want 
breakfast,  and  what '11  you  have  cooked?" 

Armathwaite  nodded  his  satisfaction. 

"We  three  will  get  along  famously,"  he 
laughed.  "Now,  Betty,  put  some  water  in 
one  of  the  bedrooms,  and,  when  you  call  Miss 
Garth,  get  my  dressing-case,  which  is  on  the 
table,  and  bring  it  to  me.  She  will  answer 
your  mother's  questions  about  breakfast. 
Any  hour  that  suits  her  will  suit  me.  And  let 
us  all  look  as  pleasant  as  though  there  wasn't 
such  a  thing  as  a  ghost  within  a  thousand 
miles  of  Elmdale." 

The  chance  phrase  reminded  him  of  the 
elder  Walker's  words:  "Elmdale  is  eight  miles 
from  Nuttonby,  and  thousands  from  every 
other  town."  Yet,  remote  as  was  this  moor- 
edge  hamlet,  a  sordid  tragedy  had  been  en- 
acted there.  Someone  had  died  in  that  house 
under  circumstances  which  called  imperatively 
for  a  most  searching  inquiry.  A  daylight 
phantom  had  replaced  the  grim  specter  which 
credulous  villagers  were  wont  to  see  on  a  sum- 
mer's eve.  Was  it  his  business  to  exorcise 
the  evil  spirit?  He  did  not  know.  He  closed 
his  eyes  resolutely  to  that  side  of  the  difficulty. 
Marguerite  Garth  must  be  sent  on  her  way 
first ;  then  he  would  make  a  guarded  investiga- 
tion into  the  history  of  the  man  whom  Mrs. 
Jackson  had  seen  "hanging  near  the  clock." 


76  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

When  summoned  to  the  dining-room  he  re- 
ceived a  shock.  Man-like,  he  had  pictured  his 
unbidden  guest  as  he  had  seen  her  the  pre- 
vious night.  Now  he  was  greeted  by  a  smiling 
and  prepossessed  young  lady,  who  had  ex- 
tracted a  muslin  gown  from  the  stock  in  the 
wardrobe,  and  whose  piquant  face  was  crowned 
by  a  wealth  of  brown  hair.  The  presence  of 
woman's  chief  adornment  naturally  enhanced 
the  girl's  remarkable  beauty.  In  defiance, 
too,  of  certain  modern  laws  of  hygiene — or 
perhaps  because  she  couldn't  help  it,  being 
built  that  way — she  had  a  very  slim  waist. 
Last  night  she  would  have  passed  in  a  crowd 
for  a  boy  of  slender  physique;  this  morning 
she  was  adorably  feminine.  During  fifteen 
years  of  strenuous  work  in  the  East,  Armath- 
waite  had  never  given  a  thought  to  the  op- 
posite sex.  He  had  seen  little  of  his  country- 
women, for  the  Indian  frontier  is  not  a  haven 
for  married  officers,  and  he  personally  would 
have  regarded  a  wife  as  a  positive  hindrance 
to  his  work;  so  it  was  a  singular  fact  that  his 
first  reflection  now  should  be  that  a  certain 
Percy  Whittaker,  whom,  in  all  probability,  he 
would  never  set  eyes  on,  was  a  person  to  be 
envied.  He  almost  scowled  at  the  absurdity 
of  the  notion,  and  the  girl,  extending  her 
hand,  caught  the  fleeting  expression. 

" Aren't  you  pleased  to  see  me?"  she  cried. 


EXPLANATIONS  77 

"I  made  sure  you  were  aching  for  my  ap- 
pearance. Betty  tells  me  you  were  up  and 
about  before  she  arrived,  and  I  have  been  an 
unconscionable  time  dressing;  you  must  be 
pining  for  breakfast." 

"You  shall  not  rob  me  of  a  chance  of  say- 
ing that  I  am  glad  to  see  you  by  that  unneces- 
sary tag  about  breakfast,"  he  said. 

"But  isn't  it  an  awful  bore  to  find  you  have 
a  girl  lodger?  Poor  man!  You  hire  a  house 
in  the  country  for  a  fishing  holiday,  and  fate 
condemns  you  to  play  host!" 

"Be  not  forgetful  to  entertain  strangers, 
for  thereby  some  have  entertained  angels  un- 
awares," he  quoted. 

"Is  that  from  Proverbs?" 

"No.  It  occurs  in  a  certain  epistle  to  the 
Hebrews." 

She  knitted  her  brows. 

"I  thought  so,"  she  said.  "I'm  rather  good 
at  Proverbs,  and  I  don't  remember  that  one. 
If  you  meant  to  give  me  a  nasty  knock  you 
might  have  reminded  me  that  it  is  better  to 
dwell  in  a  corner  of  the  house-top  than  with 
a  brawling  woman  in  a  wide  house.  .  .  . 
Do  you  like  coffee,  or  tea!" 

"Both." 

"Mixed?  Mrs.  Jackson  didn't  know  your 
tastes,  so  I  told  her  to  be  extravagant." 

"I'll  try  the  coffee,  please." 


78  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

It  was  an  odd  sensation  to  find  himself 
seated. at  table  with  such  a  vivacious  compan- 
ion. Marguerite  Garth  had  evidently  banished 
her  overnight  experiences  into  the  limbo  of 
yesterday's  seven  thousand  years.  She  could 
not  have  smiled  more  gayly,  or  been  more 
at  ease  with  a  friend  of  long  standing. 

"Betty  and  I  have  been  exchanging  impres- 
sions about  you,"  she  rattled  on.  "We  agree 
that  you're  not  half  so  severe  as  you  look. 
But  I'm  not  such  a  marvelous  guesser  as  you 
are,  so,  will  you  tell  me  what  I'm  to  call  you?" 

"Bob." 

"Mr.  Bob?" 

"I  don't  mean  that  my  name  rhymes  with 
Lobb,  or  Dobb  or  Hobb.  Bob  is  a  diminutive 
of  Robert." 

"But  Robert  what?" 

"No,  just  Bob." 

"Don't  be  silly.  You  must  have  another 
name. ' ' 

"The  name  on  Mr.  Walker's  register  is  such 
a  mouthful — Armathwaite,  if  you  will  have  it. '  ' 

"What  a  queer  way  to  put  it!  'On  Mr. 
Walker's  register.'  Isn't  it  your  real  name?" 

"There!  I  was  sure  you  would  say  that. 
Why  not  be  content  with  blunt  and  honest- 
sounding  Bob?" 

"Shall  we  establish  a  sort  of  cousinship? 
You're  Bob  and  I'm  Meg." 


EXPLANATIONS  79 

"That  would  be  a  most  excellent  beginning, 
Meg.'* 

She  laughed  delightedly. 

"We're  having  quite  an  adventure!"  she 
cried.  "It  sounds  like  a  chapter  out  of  an  ex- 
citing novel.  I  hope  you  didn't  think  I  was 
rude  about  your  other  name — the  long  one- 
Bob!  You  see,  I  used  to  be  Meg  Garth,  but 
now  I'm  Meg  Ogilvey.  I'm  hardly  accustomed 
to  the  Ogilvey  yet,  but  I  rather  like  it.  Don't 
you?" 

Armathwaite's  face  darkened,  and  he  swal- 
lowed a  piece  of  bacon  without  giving  it  even 
one  of  the  twenty-nine  bites  recommended  by 
dietists  as  a  minimum. 

"Why,  that  makes  you  look  at  me  black  as 
thunder,"  she  vowed.  "It's  a  quite  simple 
matter.  My  people  came  into  some  money 
when  we  left  Elmdale,  and  the  Ogilvey  was 
part  of  the  legacy.  It  reaches  us  from  the 
maternal  side  of  the  family,  and  the  change 
was  easy  enough  for  dad,  because  he  always 
wrote  under  the  pen-name  of  Stephen  Ogil- 
vey. ' ' 

"Stephen  Ogilvey — the  man  who  is  an 
authority  on  folk-lore?" 

The  genuine  surprise  in  his  voice  evidently 
pleased  his  hearer. 

"Yes.  How  thrilling  that  you  should  rec- 
ognize him!  That  is  real  fame,  isn't  it? — 


80  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

to  be  regarded  as  top-dog  in  your  particular 
line.  But  you  seemed  to  be  angry  when  I  told 
you  about  it." 

"I  thought  you  were  married,"  he  said, 
secretly  quaking  at  his  own  temerity. 

Again  she  knitted  her  brows  in  a  rather 
fascinating  effort  to  appear  sagacious. 

"I  don't  quite  see "  she  began.  Then 

she  stopped  suddenly. 

"You  think  that  if  I  were  married  I 
wouldn't  be  quite  such  a  torn-boy — is  that  it?" 
she  went  on. 

"No.  You've  failed  so  badly  in  your  inter- 
pretation of  my  thought  that  I  dare  hardly 
tell  you  its  true  meaning." 

"Please  do.  I  hate  to  misunderstand  peo- 
ple." 

"Well,  I'll  try  and  explain.  You  have  not 
forgotten,  I  hope,  that  I  have  already  de- 
scribed you  as  an  angel?" 

"Your  quotation  wasn't  a  bit  more  ap- 
plicable than  mine." 

"Be  that  as  it  may,  I  cannot  imagine  an 
angel  married.  Can  you?" 

"Good  gracious!  Am  I  to  remain  single  all 
my  life?" 

"Who  am  I  that  I  should  choose  between  an 
angel  and  Meg  Ogilvey?" 

"I  wouldn't  limit  your  choice  so  narrowly," 
she  said,  eluding  his  point  with  ease.  "Be- 


EXPLANATIONS  81 

sides,  I've  been  expecting  every  minute  to  hear 
that  there  is  a  Mrs.  Armathwaite. ' ' 

"There  isn't!" 

"I'm  sorry.  I  wish  there  was,  and  that  she 
was  here  now.  Then,  if  she  was  nice,  and  you 
wouldn't  have  married  her  if  she  wasn't,  she 
would  ask  me  to  stay  a  few  days.  And  I 
would  say  'Yes,  please.'  As  it  is,  I  must  hurry 
over  my  packing,  and  take  myself  back  to 
Cheshire." 

"Yes,"  said  he,  compelling  the  •  words. 
"There  is  no  doubt  about  that.  You  cannot 
remain  here." 

"Well,  you  needn't  hammer  in  the  fact  that 
you'll  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  me.  Have  some 
more  coffee!" 

A  heavy  step  sounded  on  the  path  with- 
out. The  girl,  who  was  seated  with  her 
back  to  the  window,  turned  and  looked 
out. 

"Here's  Tom  Bland,  the  Nuttonby  carrier," 
she  cried  excitedly,  smiling  and  nodding  at 
some  person  visible  only  to  herself.  "Dear 
old  Tom!  Won't  he  be  surprised  at  seeing 
me!" 

Armathwaite 's  wandering  wits  were  sud- 
denly and  sharply  recalled  to  the  extraordinary 
situation  confronting  him. 

"You  don't  mean  that  some  local  man  has 
recognized  you?"  he  growled,  and  the  note  of 


82  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

real  annoyance  in  his  voice  brought  a  wonder- 
ing glance  from  the  girl. 

"We  gazed  straight  at  one  another,  at  any 
rate,"  she  said,  with  a  perceptible  stiffening 
of  manner.  '  *  Considering  that  Tom  knows  me 
as  well  as  I  know  him,  it  would  be  stupid  to 
pretend  that  neither  of  us  knows  the  other. 
It  would  be  useless  where  Tom  is  concerned, 
at  any  rate.  He  grinned  all  over  his  face,  so 
I  may  as  well  go  to  the  door  and  have  a  word 
with  him." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Arma- 
thwaite,  springing  to  his  feet,  and  upsetting  a 
plate  in  his  hurry.  "If  Tom  Bland  says  he 
has  seen  you  here,  I'll  tell  him  he's  several 
varieties  of  a  liar.  At  this  moment  Margue- 
rite Garth  simply  doesn't  exist.  She's  a 
myth.  The  lady  in  this  room  is  Meg  Ogilvey, 
whom  Tom  Bland  has  never  heard  of  before. 
Now,  understand,  that  I  forbid  you  to  move  or 
show  your  face  again  at  the  window." 

"Oh,  my!"  pouted  the  girl,  making  believe 
to  be  very  much  afraid  of  him.  That  was  the 
hardest  part  of  the  task  confronting  the 
Grange's  latest  tenant.  He  could  awe  and  keep 
in  check  ten  thousand  turbulent  and  fanatical 
Pathans  for  many  a  year,  but  a  clear-eyed 
English  girl  of  twenty-two  refused  to  be  either 
awe-stricken  or  kept  in  restraint  for  as  many 
minutes.  Yet  he  must  bend  her  to  his  will, 


EXPLANATIONS  83 

for  her  own  sake.  He  must  force  her  away 
from  Elmdale,  from  the  hourly  possibility  of 
some  ghastly  revelation  which  would  darken 
and  embitter  her  life.  The  undertaking  would 
go  against  the  grain,  but  he  dared  not  shirk 
it,  and,  once  his  mind  was  made  up,  he  was 
not  one  whose  resolution  faltered. 


CHAPTER  V 

GATHERING    CLOUDS 

THE  Nuttonby  carrier  took  the  new  tenant 
of  the  Grange  into  his  circle  of  acquaintances 
with  the  ready  camaraderie  of  his  class. 

"Fine  morning,  sir,"  said  he. 

"An  excellent  morning,"  said  Armathwaite. 
"Have  you  brought  my  boxes?" 

"Yes,  sir.    They  be  rare  an'  heavy,  an'  all." 

"You  and  I  can  manage  them  between  us,  I 
have  no  doubt,"  and  Armathwaite  led  the  way 
to  the  gate.  As  they  passed  the  dining-room, 
Bland  stared  candidly  through  the  window, 
but  the  girl  was  not  visible. 

"I  didn't  reckon  on  seem'  Miss  Meg  to-day, 
sir,"  he  said. 

"Miss  Meg?  Who's  Miss  Meg?"  smiled  the 
other. 

"Why,  poor  Mr.  Garth's  lass,  to  be  sure." 

"Ah!  My  cousin  thought  you  were  under 
the  impression  that  you  recognized  her.  But 
you  are  mistaken.  The  lady  you  saw  is  Miss 
Marguerite  Ogilvey." 

"Is  she  now?  Well,  that  takes  it!  I  could 
ha'  sworn — Miss  who,  sir?" 

84 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  85 

Armathwaite  repeated  the  name,  and  Tom 
Bland  scratched  his  head.  He  was  elderly, 
and  weather-tanned  as  the  Nuttonby  porter, 
but  his  occupation  had  quickened  his  wits; 
there  are  times  when  one  should  not  reiterate 
an  opinion. 

'  *  You  '11  not  have  tried  the  beck  yet,  sir?" 
he  said,  twisting  the  conversation  rather  ob- 
viously. "I  had  a  turn  in  the  Swale  meself 
last  evenin' — this  water  runs  into  it,  ye  ken, 
an'  the  troot  were  risin'  fine." 

4 'What  flies  did  you  use?" 

"Two  March  browns  an'  a  black  gnat. 
There's  nowt  like  a  March  brown,  to  my 
thinkin'." 

"Can  you  tell  me  who  owns  the  land  in 
that  direction?"  and  Armathwaite  pointed  to 
the  wooded  gill  which  cut  into  the  moorland 
to  the  eastward. 

Bland  gave  some  names,  which  Armathwaite 
entered  in  a  notebook.  He  was  wondering 
whether  or  not  he  should  ask  the  man  not  to 
mention  that  he  had  seen  a  second  occupant 
of  the  house,  but  decided  that  gossip  would 
be  stilled  more  quickly  if  the  topic  were  left 
severely  alone.  He  knew  that  Walker  had  told 
the  carrier  certain  facts  about  himself.  Pos- 
sibly there  would  be  some  talk  when  next  the 
two  met,  but,  by  that  time,  the  Grange  would 
have  lost  its  highly  interesting  visitor,  and 


86  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

Armathwaite  smiled  at  the  notion  of  the  dap- 
per young  auctioneer  trying  to  extract  in- 
formation from  him. 

The  boxes,  too,  permitted  of  no  waste  of 
breath.  When  the  third  was  dumped  in  the 
hall  Bland  was  gasping,  and  Armathwaite 's 
rather  sallow  face  wore  a  heightened  color. 

"That  was  a  stiff  haul  for  your  horse.  How 
much?"  said  the  owner  of  these  solid  trunks. 

"It's  eight  miles "  began  Bland.  De- 
spite a  fixed  tariff  he  could  -not  forego  an 
opportunity  for  bargaining,  and  Yorkshire 
will  never  give  a  direct  answer  if  it  can  be 
avoided. 

"Sixteen,  really,"  broke  in  Armathwaite. 
"Will  sixteen  shillings  meet  the  case?" 

But  Bland  drew  the  line  at  downright  extor- 
tion. 

"Nay,  nay!"  he  said.  "I  had  a  few  calls 
on  the  way,  an'  there's  some  empties  to  go 
back  from  the  Fox  and  Hounds.  Take  off  the 
six,  sir,  an'  I'll  be  very  content." 

Armathwaite  paid  him  and  added  a  florin 
"  for  a  drink."  As  it  happened,  Betty  Jack- 
son crossed  the  hall,  and  nodded  a  greeting. 
This  was  fortunate.  The  girl's  presence  lent  a 
needed  touch  of  domesticity. 

"Ye '11  hae  gotten  Betty  an'  her  mother  to 
do  for  you?"  commented  the  carrier. 

"Yes.    I  was  lucky  to  find  them  available." 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  87 

"Ay,  they're  all  right.  They'll  mak'  ye 
comfortable.  They  will,  an'  all.  I've  known 
Mrs.  Jackson  these  fot-ty  year.  Good  mornin', 
sir.  If  you  want  owt  frae  Nuttonby  just  tell 
the  postman.  I  come  this  way  Tuesdays, 
Thursdays  an'  Saturdays." 

With  the  departure  of  the  carrier  Arma- 
thwaite  fancied  that  the  irksomeness  of  life 
would  lessen.  The  "cousin"  of  recent  adop- 
tion had  evidently  withdrawn  to  the  farther 
part  of  the  dining-room,  because  Bland,  despite 
many  attempts,  had  not  set  eyes  on  her  again. 
She,  of  course,  was  aware  when  he  mounted 
into  the  cart  and  rumbled  out  of  sight  around 
the  corner  of  the  cottage.  She  came  out. 
Armathwaite  was  unstrapping  the  boxes. 
One  was  already  open,  revealing  books  in 
layers. 

"Sorry  I'm  such  a  nuisance,"  she  said 
quietly.  "Of  course,  it  was  thoughtless  of  me 
to  nod  to  Tom  Bland,  but  he  took  me  by  sur- 
prise. Naturally,  you  don't  wish  people  to 
know  I  am  in  Elmdale.  Will  you  confer  one 
last  favor?  Take  your  rods  and  pannier,  and 
go  for  a  couple  of  hours'  fishing.  I  shall  scoot 
before  you  return.  I'll  select  the  few  things  I 
require,  and  Betty  will  pack  them,  and  hand 
them  over  to  Bland  on  Saturday." 

He  was  on  his  knees  and  looked  up  at  her. 

"By  'scooting'  do  you  mean  that  you  are 


88  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER  ' 

going  to  walk  across  that  moor  again?"  he 
demanded. 

"Yes." 

"If  that  is  the  only  possible  way  of  escape, 
I'll  go  with  you." 

"Walk  twenty-eight  miles?    Ridiculous!" 

"You're  not  going  alone." 

"I  am."  This  with  a  little  stamp  of  one  of 
the  brown  brogues,  mighty  fetching. 

"I  shall  not  force  my  company  on  you,  if 
that  is  what  you  fear." 

'  *  But  how  absurd !  Do  you  intend  following 
me?" 

"Yes — until  you  are  within  easy  range  of  the 
railway. ' ' 

"Mr.  Armathwaite,  I'm  perfectly  well  able 
to  take  care  of  myself." 

"I'm  sure  of  it,  Meg.  But  a  cousin  should 
be  cousinly.  Our  relationship  will  not  be  close. 
Say,  a  distance  of  two  hundred  yards." 

He  smiled  into  her  eyes ;  his  stern  face  soft- 
ened wonderfully  when  he  smiled. 

"I  couldn't  think  of  permitting  it,"  she 
pouted,  eyeing  him  with  a  new  interest. 

He  sat  back  on  his  heels,  and  affected  a  re- 
signed attitude. 

"Let's  argue  the  point  for  two  hours,"  he 
said.  "I  can't  go  fishing,  because  I  shall  be 
trespassing  until  I  have  acquired  some  rights. 
Moreover,  nothing  short  of  violence  will  stop 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  89 

me  from  escorting  you  over  the  moor.  In 
this  weather,  moors  contain  tramps." 

"I  know.    I  met  two  yesterday." 

"Did  they  speak  to  you?" 

"One  did.  I  didn't  mind  him.  The  second 
one  turned  and  looked.  I  was  ready  to  run, 
but  he  only  stared." 

"May  I  ask  what  costume  you  intend  wear- 
ing for  to-day's  outing?" 

"I  haven't  quite  decided.  It  may  be  a  blue 
Shantung  or  a  white  pique,  but  it  won't  be 
gray  flannel,  if  that's  what  you're  hinting 
at." 

He  rose,  and  felt  in  his  pockets. 

"I  think  we  can  get  through  those  two  hours 
comfortably.  May  I  smoke?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  please  do.  Then  you  won't  be  so 
grumpy.  Walk  twenty-eight  miles  on  my  ac- 
count! The  idea!" 

"I've  walked  forty  before  to-day,  and  stood 
a  very  reasonable  chance  of  being  potted  every 
inch  of  the  way.  You  won't  fire  at  me,  at 
any  rate,  so  twenty-eight  is  a  mere  stroll.  In 
fact,  if  you  are  gracious,  it  can  be  a  pleasant 
one,  too." 

"Potted!    Were  you  in  the  army?" 

"No.  Soldiers  like  that  sort  of  thing!  I 
didn't  so  I  gave  it  up.  Sure  you  don't  mind 
a  pipe?" 

"I  love  it.    I  often  fill  and  light  dad's  for 


90  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

him  when  he's  busy.  You  ought  to  see  him 
when  he's  tracking  some  Norse  legend  to  its 
lair,  or  clearing  up  a  point  left  doubtful  by 
Frazer  in  the  Golden  Bough.  Have  you  ever 
read  Frazer?  I  know  him  and  Mannhardt 
almost  by  heart.  I  help  dad  a  lot  in  my  own 
little  way.  Have  you  ever  played  cat's 
cradle?" 

"With  a  piece  of  string?" 

"Yes.  Well,  games  and  folk-lore  go  to- 
gether, and  cat's  cradle  has  been  played  since 
the  ancient  Britons  wore — whatever  ancient 
Britons  did  wear.  Now,  you're  laughing  at 
me." 

"Indeed,  I'm  not.  I  was  marveling  at  our 
kindred  tastes.  Have  you  heard  of  the  Jatakas 
and  Panchatantras  of  India?" 

"I  know  that  there  are  such  things." 

"I'll  jot  down  two  or  three,  with  a  transla- 
tion." 

"Oh,  wouldn't  dad  love  to  meet  you!  He 
often  growls  because  he  can't  read  Sanskrit." 

"Tell  me  where  you  live,  and  I'll  look  you 
up  some  day." 

"Our  permanent  address  is Oh,  my! 

Somebody's  coming,  and  I  don't  want  you  to 
be  cross  with  me  again." 

She  fled  into  the  kitchen.  The  door  had 
hardly  closed  when  a  shadow  darkened  the 
porch.  Armathwaite,  lighting  his  pipe,  gazed 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  91 

through  a  cloud  of  smoke  at  a  red-faced 
policeman. 

" Hello!"  he  said.  ''Who  have  you  come 
for?" 

The  policeman  grinned,  and  saluted. 

"There's  not  much  doing  in  Elmdale  in  my 
line,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  was  told  the  Grange 
had  a  new  tenant,  so  I  just  looked  in.  I  come 
this  way  Thursday  mornings  and  Monday 
nights,  as  a  rule.  I'm  stationed  at  Bellerby, 
nearly  three  miles  from  here.  Last  time  I  was 
in  this  hall " 

Armathwaite  was  too  quick  for  him.  Resi- 
dence in  Mr.  Walker's  "house  'round  the 
corner"  had  proved  so  rife  in  surprises  that 
the  long  arm  of  coincidence  might  be  expected 
to  play  its  part  at  any  moment.  So  he  coun- 
tered deftly. 

"Sorry  I  can't  be  more  hospitable,"  he 
broke  in,  advancing,  and  deliberately  causing 
the  constable  to  step  back  into  the  porch. 
"Everything  is  at  sixes  and  sevens.  I  only 
arrived  yesterday,  and  my  boxes,  as  you  see, 
are  not  yet  unpacked." 

He  closed  the  door,  feeling  certain  that  his 
judgment  had  not  erred.  It  was  soon  justi- 
fied. 

"Next  time  you're  passing,  give  me  a  call," 
he  went  on.  "I'll  be  able  to  offer  you  a 
whisky  and  soda  or  a  bottle  of  beer.  Are  you 


92  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

the  man  who  was  brought  here  by  a  Mr.  Ben- 
son on  a  certain  occasion?" 

"I  am,  sir,  and  it  was  a  nasty  job,  too.  I'm 
glad  someone  has  taken  the  place.  It's  a  nice 
property,  but  the  garden  has  gone  to  wrack 
and  ruin  since  poor  Mr.  Garth  went.  Just  look 
at  them  dandelions,  growin'  where  there  used 
to  be  a  bed  of  the  finest  begonias  I've  ever 
seen!  'Begonia  Smith'  was  the  gardener's 
nickname  for  miles  around.  And  convolvulus 
instead  of  sweet  peas!  It's  a  sin,  that's  what 
it  is!" 

The  policeman,  clearly  an  enthusiast,  took 
off  his  helmet,  and  wiped  his  forehead  with 
a  purple  pocket-handkerchief. 

"You  knew  Mr.  Garth,  I  suppose?"  said 
Armathwaite,  strolling  towards  the  dandelions, 
whose  vigorous  growth  was  so  offensive  to  the 
horticultural  eye.  The  other  went  with  him, 
little  thinking  he  was  being  headed  off  a  scent 
which  might  lead  to  a  greater  tragedy  than  the 
devastation  of  a  once  well-kept  garden. 

"Knew  him  well,  sir.  A  very  pleasant- 
spoken  gentleman  he  was,  an'  all.  I  brought 
him  a  party  of  plow  stots  one  day — men 
who  dance  in  the  villages  at  Martinmas,  sir— 
and  he  was  as  pleased  as  Punch  because  they 
sang  some  old  verses  he'd  never  heard  before. 
The  last  man  in  the  world  I'd  ever  have 
thought  of  to  kill  himself." 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  93 

11  There  was  no  doubt  that  he  committed 
suicide?" 

"No,  sir,  that  there  wasn't.  He'd  been 
dead  two  days  when  I  cut  him  down.  Well, 
no  need  to  talk  of  it  now,  but  even  the  doctor 
was  rattled,  though  the  weather  was  very  hot 
that  June." 

Armathwaite  felt  as  if  he  had  been  conjured 
by  some  spiteful  necromancer  out  of  a  smiling 
and  sunlit  English  countryside  into  a  realm  of 
ghouls  and  poison-growths.  A  minute  ago  a 
charming  and  sweet-spoken  girl  had  been  chat- 
ting glibly  about  her  father's  wanderings  in 
the  by-ways  of  folk-lore,  and  now  this  stolid 
policeman  was  hinting  at  the  gruesomeness  of 
his  task  when  called  on  to  release  the  lifeless 
body  of  that  same  man  from  its  dolorous 
perch  beside  the  clock. 

For  an  instant  he  lost  himself,  and  fixed 
such  a  penetrating  glance  on  the  constable 
that  the  latter  grew  uneasy,  lest  he  had  said 
something  he  ought  not  to  have  said.  Arma- 
thwaite realized  the  mistake  at  once,  and 
dropped  those  searching  eyes  from  the  other's 
anxious  face  to  some  scraps  of  ribbon  sewn 
on  the  left  breast  of  the  dark  blue  tunic. 

"You  have  the  Tirah  medal,  I  see,"  he  said. 
"Were  you  at  Dargai?" 

The  question  achieved  the  immediate  effect 
counted  on. 


94  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"I  was,  an'  all,  sir,"  and  the  ex-soldier 
squared  his  shoulders.  "Though  no  Scottie, 
I  was  in  the  Gordon  Highlanders.  Were  you 
there,  sir?" 

"I — er — yes,  but  as  a  non-combatant.  I 
was  in  the  Politicals — quite  a  youngster  in 
those  days,  and  I  was  fool  enough  to  envy  you 
that  rush  across  the  plateau." 

"It  was  warm  work  while  it  lasted,  sir." 

"There  have  been  few  things  to  equal  it  in 
warfare.  What  time  do  you  pass  through  the 
village  on  Monday?" 

"Shortly  after  eleven,  sir." 

"If  you  see  a  light,  come  in.  If  not,  look 
me  up  next  Thursday.  If  I'm  fishing,  I'll 
leave  word  with  Mrs.  Jackson  that  you're  to 
have  a  refresher  should  you  be  that  way  in- 
clined. ' ' 

"Thank  you,  sir.  My  name's  Leadbitter,  if 
ever  you  should  want  me." 

"And  a  jolly  good  name,  too,  for  a  man 
who  fought  against  the  Afridis.  By  the  way, 
can  you  tell  me  what  time  the  post  leaves 
here?" 

"A  rural  postman  calls  at  Thompson's  shop 
for  letters  about  half-past  four,  sir." 

A  cigar  changed  hands,  and  P.  C.  Leadbitter 
strode  off,  holding  his  head  high.  It  was  a 
red-letter  day.  He  had  met  one  who  knew 
what  the  storming  of  the  Dargai  Pass  meant. 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  95 

Even  the  memories  of  Stephen  Garth  pendant 
from  a  hook  beneath  the  china  shelf  faded  into 
the  mists  of  a  country  policeman's  humdrum 
routine.  He  was  halfway  to  Bellerby  when  he 
remembered  that  he  had  not  done  the  one 
thing  he  meant  doing — he  had  not  asked  Mr. 
Armathwaite 's  intentions  with  regard  to  the 
garden.  Begonia  Smith  had  retired  to  a  vil- 
lage lying  between  Bellerby  and  Nuttonby, 
Though  too  old  to  take  a  new  situation,  he 
would  jump  at  the  chance  of  setting  his  be- 
loved Grange  garden  in  order  again,  and,  of 
course,  he  was  just  the  man  for  the  job.  Lead- 
bitter  believed  in  doing  a  good  turn  when  op- 
portunity offered.  After  tea,  he  went  in  search 
of  Smith  of  the  order  Begoniaceae.  To  save 
half  a  mile  of  a  three  miles'  tramp  by  road, 
he  passed  through  the  estate  of  Sir  Berkeley 
Button,  and  met  that  redoubtable  baronet 
himself  strolling  forth  to  see  how  the  part- 
ridges were  coming  on. 

"Ha!"  cried  Hutton,  knowing  that  his  land 
was  not  in  the  policeman's  district,  "has 
that  rascally  herd  of  mine  been  gettin'  full 
again!" 

"No,  Sir  Berkeley,  Jim's  keepin'  steady 
these  days,"  was  the  answer.  "There's  a  new 
tenant  at  the  Grange,  Elmdale;  he'll  be  wantin' 
a  gardener,  I'm  thinkin',  so  I'm  going  to  put 
Begonia  Smith  on  his  track." 


96  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"A  new  tenant!  You  don't  tell  me.  What's 
his  name?" 

"A  Mr.  Robert  Armathwaite,  Sir  Berkeley. 
A  very  nice  gentleman,  too.  Been  in  India, 
in  the  Politicals,  he  said.  I  didn't  quite  know 
what  he  meant " 

"But  I  do,  by  Jove,  and  a  decent  lot  of 
chaps  they  are.  Picked  men,  all  of  'em.  I 
must  look  him  up.  I  haven't  met  anyone  of 
that  name,  but  we're  sure  to  own  scores  of 
friends  in  common.  Glad  I  met  you,  Lead- 
bitter.  I'll  drive  over  there  some  day  soon. 
Armathwaite,  you  say?  Sounds  like  an  old 
Yorkshire  name,  but  it's  new  to  me.  The 
coveys  are  strong  on  the  wing  this  year,  eh?" 

So,  all  unwittingly  so  far  as  Armathwaite 
was  concerned,  his  recognition  of  an  Indian 
Frontier  ribbon  had  set  in  motion  strange 
forces,  as  a  pebble  falling  from  an  Alpine  sum- 
mit can  start  an  avalanche.  In  truth,  he  had 
not  yet  grasped  the  essential  fact  that  resid- 
ents in  a  secluded  district  of  Yorkshire,  or  in 
any  similar  section  of  the  United  Kingdom, 
were  close  knit  throughout  astonishingly  large 
areas.  He  had  belonged  to  a  ruling  caste 
among  an  inferior  race  during  so  many  active 
years  that  he  still  retained  the  habits  of 
thought  generated  by  knowledge  of  local  con- 
ditions in  India,  where  a  town  like  Nuttonby 
would  have  little  in  common  with  a  hamlet  like 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  97 

Elmdale,  whereas,  in  Yorkshire,  Nuttonby  knew 
the  affairs  of  Elmdale  almost  as  intimately  as 
its  own. 

But  enlightenment  on  this  point,  and  on 
many  others,  was  coming  speedily.  He  re- 
ceived the  first  sharp  lesson  within  a  few 
hours. 

Marguerite  Ogilvey  might  be  a  most  indus- 
trious young  lady  when  circumstances  were 
favorable,  but  she  had  so  many  questions  to 
put,  and  so  much  local  news  to  absorb  from 
Mrs.  Jackson  and  Betty,  that  the  morning 
slipped  by  without  any  material  progress  be- 
ing made  in  the  avowed  object  of  her  visit. 

Armathwaite,  piling  rows  of  books  on  the 
library  floor,  noticed  that  the  collection  of 
seven,  ranging  from  a  Sheffield  cake-basket  to 
a  Baxter  print,  had  not  been  added  to.  The 
girl  wanted  to  know,  of  course,  why  Leadbitter 
came,  and  was  told,  though  his  references  to 
the  disheveled  state  of  the  garden  were  sup- 
pressed. Then  she  volunteered  to  help  in  dis- 
posing of  the  new  lot  of  books,  but  her  services 
were  peremptorily  declined. 

1  'You 're  a  grumpy  sort  of  cousin  at  times, 
Bob,"  she  cried,  and  betook  herself  to  the 
scullery  and  more  entertaining  company.  She 
had  been  chatting  there  an  hour,  or  longer, 
when  she  wheeled  round  on  Mrs.  Jackson  with 
an  astonished  cry. 


98  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"I've  been  here  all  the  morning,  and  you've 
never  said  a  word  about  my  father  and 
mother,"  she  declared.  "They're  quite  well, 
thank  you;  but  you  might  have  inquired." 

"Well,  there!"  stammered  Mrs.  Jackson, 
"It  was  on  the  tip  of  me  tongue  half  a  dozen 
times,  an'  something  drove  it  away  again.  An' 
how  are  they,  Miss  Meg?" 

"I've  just  told  you.  I  do  wish  they'd  come 
back  to  the  Grange,  but  they  seem  to  hate  the 
very  mention  of  it.  I  wonder  why!" 

"Elmdale's  a  long  way  frae  Lunnon,"  said 
Betty,  catching  at  a  straw  in  this  sudden 
whirlpool. 

"We're  just  as  far  from  London  in  Corn- 
wall," laughed  the  girl. 

"Oh,  is  that  where  you've  gone?"  put  in 
Mrs.  Jackson  incautiously. 

"Yes.  Didn't  you  know?  Hadn't  you  the 
address  for  letters'?" 

"No,  miss.  Miggles  said" — Miggles  was  the 
peripatetic  postman — "that  all  letters  had  to 
be  sent  to  Holloway  &  Dobb,  in  Nuttonby." 

Marguerite  looked  rather  puzzled,  because 
her  recollection  ran  differently;  she  dropped 
the  subject,  thinking,  doubtless,  that  her 
parents'  behests  had  some  good  reason  be- 
hind them,  and  ought  to  be  respected. 

"Anyhow,"  she  went  on,  "now  that  I've 
broken  the  ice  by  coming  here,  my  people  may 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  99 

be  willing  to   return.     I  don't   suppose  Mr. 
Armathwaite  will  stay  beyond  the  summer." 

"Mr.  Walker  tole  me  he  thought  of  takin' 
the  place  for  a  year,"  said  Mrs.  Jackson. 

"Indeed.  I'll  ask  him  at  lunch.  I've  wasted 
the  morning,  so  I'll  stay  another  night,  and 
start  early  to-morrow.  You'll  find  me  a  bed 
in  the  cottage,  won't  you,  Mrs.  Jackson?" 

"Mebbe,  Mr.  Armathwaite  will  be  vexed," 
said  Betty,  making  a  half-hearted  effort  to 
carry  out  the  compact  between  herself  and 
her  employer. 

"Leave  Mr.  Armathwaite  to  me,"  laughed 
Marguerite.  "He's  a  bear,  and  he  growls,  but 
he  has  no  claws,  not  for  women,  at  any  rate. 
No  one  could  be  nicer  than  he  last  night.  I 
felt  an  awful  fool,  and  looked  it,  too;  but  he 
didn't  say  a  single  word  to  cause  me  any  em- 
barrassment. Moreover,  he  intends  crossing 
the  moor  with  me,  and  I  can't  let  him  get 
lost  in  the  dark.  Men  have  died  who  were 
lost  on  that  moor." 

"Oh,  but  that's  in  the  winter,  miss,  when  the 
snow's  deep,"  said  Betty. 

"Why,  I  do  believe  you  want  to  get  rid 
of  me ! ' '  cried  the  other. 

Betty  flushed  guiltily.  She  was  floundering 
in  deep  waters,  and  struck  out  blindly. 

"Oh,  no,  miss,"  she  vowed.  "You  know  me 
better  than  that.  P'raps  you'll  be  gettin' 


100  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

married  one  of  these  days,  an'  then  you  can 
please  yourself,  an'  live  here." 

"Married!  Me  get  married,  and  leave  dad 
and  mums !  Oh,  dear  no !  One  young  man  has 
asked  me  already,  and  I— 

"Betty,"  said  a  voice  from  the  doorway 
leading  to  the  hall,  "can  you  give  me  a 
duster?" 

The  conclave  started  apart,  like  so  many 
disturbed  \sparrows;  but  Armathwaite  could 
make  a  shrewd  guess  as  to  the  name  of  the 
"one  young  man,"  since  he  had  Marguerite 
Ogilvey's  own  testimony  for  it  that  Percy 
"Whittaker  would  "do  anything"  to  oblige  her, 
and  what  more  likely  than  that  such  devotion 
should  lead  to  matrimony? 

At  luncheon  he  received  with  frigidity  the 
girl's  statement  that  she  planned  remaining 
in  Elmdale  till  the  morrow. 

"There's  really  no  reason  to  hurry,"  she 
said  airily.  "The  Whittakers  know  where  I 
lam,  and  I'll  send  a  postcard  saying  I'll  be 
with  them  Friday  evening." 

"I  must  remind  you  that  every  hour  you 
prolong  your  visit  you  add  to  the  risk  of  dis- 
covery," he  said. 

"Discovery  of  what,  or  by  whom?"  she 
demanded. 

"I  am  only  endeavoring  to  fall  in  with  your 
own  wishes.  You  came  here  secretly.  You 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  101 

took  pains  to  prevent  anyone  from  recognizing 
you.  Have  you  changed  your  mind?" 

"I — I  think  I  have.  You  see,  your  being 
here  makes  a  heap  of  difference." 

'  *  Precisely.  You  ought  to  get  away  all  the 
sooner." 

" First  Betty — now  you!  I  must  indeed  be 
an  unwelcome  guest  in  my  father's  house.  Of 
course,  I  can't  possibly  stay  now.  There's  a 
train  from  Leyburn  at  seven  o'clock.  I  can 
catch  it  by  leaving  here  at  three,  but  I  shan't 
start  unless  I  go  alone." 

She  looked  prettier  than  ever  when  her 
brown  eyes  sparkled  with  anger,  but  Armath- 
waite  hardened  his  heart  because  of  the 
grim  shadow  which  she  could  not  see  but 
which  was  hourly  becoming  more  visible  to 
him. 

"Is  Leyburn  the  station  on  the  other  side 
of  the  moor?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  will  remain  here  three  weary 
months,  Meg." 

"I  don't  pretend  to  understand,"  she  cried 
wrathfully. 

"I've  paid  three  months'  rent,  and  here  I 
shall  stay  if  a  regiment  of  girls  and  a  whole 
army  of  Percy  Whittakers  try  to  eject  me. 
As  I  am  equally  resolved  not  to  allow  you  to 
cross  the  moor  unaccompanied,  you  will 


102  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

readily  perceive  the  only  logical  outcome  of 
your  own  decision." 

The  brown  eyes  lost  their  fire,  but  acquired 
another  sort  of  sheen. 

"What  has  happened  that  you  should  speak 
so  unkindly?"  she  quavered.  "Last  night  and 
this  morning  you — you — didn't  order  me  out. 
And  I  don't  see  why  you  should  drag  in 
Percy  Whittaker.  I  only  borrowed  his 
togs. ' ' 

Many  times  in  the  history  of  this  gray  old 
world  have  woman's  tears  pierced  armor  and 
sapped  fortresses.  This  hapless  man  yielded 
at  once. 

"Confound  it,  Miss  Ogilvey,  I'd  keep  you 
here  during  the  remainder  of  my  days  if  I 
could  arrange  matters  to  my  own  liking  and 
yours,"  he  blurted  out. 

She  recovered  her  self-possession  with  amaz- 
ing readiness. 

"Now,  Bob,  you're  talking  nonsense,"  she 
tittered.  "Aren't  we  making  mountains  out 
of  molehills?  I  have  lots  to  do,  and  hate 
being  rushed.  I  can  stay  with  Mrs.  Jackson 
to-night,  and  you  and  I  will  set  out  for  Ley- 
burn  early  to-morrow.  Then,  If  you  don 't  care 
to  face  the  return  journey,  you  shall  take 
train  to  Nuttonby  and  drive  here.  Isn't  that 
a  good  plan?" 

"We  must  adopt  it,  at  any  rate,"  he  said 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  103 

grudgingly.  "But  you  promise  to  remain  hid- 
den all  day!" 

"Yes,  even  that.  Now,  let's  stop  squab- 
bling, and  eat.  Tell  me  something  about  India. 
It  must  be  an  awfully  jolly  place.  If  I  went 
there,  should  I  be  a  mem-sahib?" 

"It  is  highly  probable." 

"What  a  funny  way  to  put  it  I  Aren't  all 
English  ladies  in  India  mem-sahibs!" 

"The  married  ones  are.  The  spinsters  are 
miss-sahibs." 

She  laughed  delightedly,  and  without  any 
sense  of  awkwardness  because  of  her  own 
blunder. 

"Naturally  they  would  be.  That's  rather 
neat  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,"  she  cried. 

Old  jokes  are  ever  new  in  someone's  ears, 
or  no  comic  paper  could  live  beyond  a  year. 
When  Betty  came  in  with  a  gooseberry  tart 
and  cream,  she  heard  the  two  calling  each 
other  "Bob"  and  "Meg,"  and  reported  there- 
on in  the  kitchen. 

"It  seems  to  me  she's  larnt  summat  (some- 
thing) i'  Cornwall,"  commented  Mrs.  Jackson. 

"And  him  old  enough  to  be  her  father!" 
marveled  Betty. 

"Fiddlesticks!  It's  the  life  he's  led  that's 
aged  him.  He's  not  a  day  more'n  thirty-five." 

Mrs.  Jackson  was  no  bad  judge.  Her  em- 
ployer was  in  his  thirty-sixth  year. 


104  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

After  luncheon,  Marguerite  Ogilvey  collected 
her  treasures,  and,  with  Betty's  help,  packed 
them  in  boxes  obtained  at  the  village  shop. 
Before  tea,  she  wrote  a  letter,  which  Armath- 
waite  took  to  the  post.  While  there,  he  in- 
quired about  the  fishing,  and  the  grocer  pointed 
out  a  very  tall  and  stoutly-built  man  stacking 
hay  at  the  bottom  of  a  long  field. 

" That's  Mr.  Burt,"  he  said.  "He  owns  a 
mile  or  more  of  the  best  water.  If  you  were 
to  go  an*  see  him  now,  sir,  you  could  settle 
things  straight  off." 

"But  I  want  to  have  a  word  with  Miggles." 

"He'll  be  here  in  ten  minutes,  sir,  an'  I'll 
tell  him  to  give  you  a  hail.  The  Nuttonby 
road  passes  the  end  of  that  field." 

Matters  seemed  to  be  arranged  conveniently; 
as,  indeed,  they  were,  if  sprites  were  laying 
snares  for  Eobert  Armathwaite 's  feet. 

He  met  Farmer  Burt,  and  was  given  all 
fishing  facilities  at  once.  Nay,  more,  if  this 
weather  lasted,  as  was  likely,  and  all  the  hay 
was  saved  by  sunset,  Burt  himself  would  call 
next  day,  and  reveal  the  lie  of  the  land. 

"Make  it  Saturday,"  said  Armathwaite, 
mindful  of  another  fixture. 

"Right  you  are,  sir!" 

Someone  shouted.  It  was  Miggles,  breast- 
high  beyond  a  hedge.  At  that  instant  Arma- 
thwaite caught  sight  of  a  dog-cart  swinging 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  105 

into  Elmdale.  A  gallant  figure  at  the  reins 
seemed  somehow  familiar.  Therefore,  instead 
of  describing  the  kind  of  bath  he  wished  Tom 
Bland  to  bring  from  an  ironmonger's,  he  said 
sharply  to  the  postman: 

"Who  is  that  in  the  dog-cart?" 

"Young  Mr.  Walker,  o'  Nuttonby,  sir,"  was 
the  answer. 

James  Walker !  The  man  whom  Marguerite 
Ogilvey  said  she  hated,  and  such  a  phrase  on  a 
girl's  lips  with  reference  to  a  man  like  Walker 
almost  invariably  means  that  she  has  been 
pestered  by  his  attentions.  The  Grange  was 
nearly  a  mile  distant,  and  Walker  was  now 
dashing  through  the  village  street. 

"Damn!"  said  Armathwaite,  making  off  at 
top  speed. 

Miggles  gazed  after  him. 

"Rum  houses  draws  rum  coves,"  he  said, 
trudging  away  on  his  daily  round.  "Not  that 
he's  the  first  who's  damned  young  Jimmy 
Walker,  not  by  a  jolly  long  way!"  ; 

Evidently,  an  Aristotelian  postman. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   STOBM   BREAKS 

ARMATHWAITE'S  face,  as  he  strode  through 
Elmdale,  was  hardly  that  of  a  man  who  had 
found  there  the  quiet  and  solitude  he  had 
stipulated  for  when  in  treaty  with  Walker  & 
Son.  Its  stern  and  harassed  aspect  was  seen 
and  commented  on  by  a  score  of  people. 
Though  most  of  the  inhabitants  were  busy  in 
the  fields,  there  were  watchers  in  plenty  peer- 
ing from  each  farm  and  cottage.  Already  the 
village  held  in  common  the  scanty  stock  of 
information  possessed  by  the  Jacksons  con- 
cerning the  Grange's  new  tenant,  because 
mother  and  daughter  were  far  too  shrewd  to 
provoke  discussion  by  withholding  the  facts 
stated  by  the  house  agent.  They  knew  that 
every  urchin  who  could  toddle  had  peeped 
through  gate  and  hedges  that  morning;  they 
were  more  alive  than  Armathwaite  himself  to 
the  risk  Miss  Meg  ran  of  being  seen  if  she 
went  outside  the  house,  front  or  back,  for  ten 
seconds.  The  best  way  to  disarm  gossip  was 
to  answer  as  best  they  might  the  four  ques- 
tions put  by  every  inquirer:  Who  is  he? 

106 


THE  STORM  BREAKS  107 

Where  does  he  come  from!  Is  he  married? 
How  long  will  he  stop? 

Singularly  enough,  in  a  land  of  variable 
weather,  Elmdale  at  this  time  was  bathed  in 
brilliant  sunshine  from  morn  till  eve.  The 
ripening  crops,  the  green  uplands,  the  moor, 
with  its  gorse  just  fading  and  its  heather 
showing  the  first  faint  flush  of  purple,  were 
steeped  in  the  "great  peacefulness  of  light" 
so  dear  to  Euskin.  If  one  searched  the  earth 
it  would  be  hard  to  find  a  nook  where  sorrow 
and  evil  were  less  likely  to  dree  their  weird; 
yet,  Armathwaite  expected  to  meet  those  grim 
sisters  stalking  through  the  ancient  house 
when  he  saw  an  empty  dog-cart  anc"  an 
open  door;  he  seldom  erred  in  such  fore- 
casts, and  his  divination  was  not  at  fault 
now. 

As  he  entered  the  hall,  he  heard  the  girl's 
voice,  clear  and  crisp  and  scornful. 

"How  dare  you  say  such  things  to  me! 
How  dare  you!  My  father  is  alive  and  well. 
If  he  were  here  now " 

James  Walker  chuckled. 

"Tell  that  to  the  Marines,"  he  began.  The 
remainder  of  the  sentence  died  on  his  lips 
when  Armathwaite 's  tall  form  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

"You  here,  Mr.  Walker?"  said  the  Anglo- 
Indian  calmly.  Then,  noting  Marguerite  Ogil- 


108  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

vey's  white  face  and  distraught  eyes,  he  as- 
sumed a  mystified  air,  and  cried: 

"Hullo,  Meg,  what's  gone  wrong  I" 

She  flew  to  him  instantly,  clasping  his  arm, 
and  the  confident  touch  of  her  fingers  thrilled 
him  to  the  core. 

"Oh,  Bob,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come  back," 
she  almost  sobbed.  "That — that  nasty  little 
man  has  been  telling  such  horrid  fibs.  He 
says — he  says — Oh,  Bob,  won't  you  send  him 
away?" 

At  that  moment  the  mental  equilibrium  of 
James  Walker,  junior  (his  father  was  also 
James)  was  badly  shaken.  It  oscillated  vio- 
lently in  one  direction  when  he  noted  the 
manner  of  address  these  two  adopted  the  one 
to  the  other.  It  swung  to  another  extreme 
on  hearing  himself  described  as  "a  nasty  little 
man"  by  a  girl  for  whom  a  long-dormant  calf 
love  had  quickened  in  his  veins  when  Tom 
Bland  announced  that  "Meg  Garth,  or  her 
ghost,"  was  at  the  Grange  that  day.  It 
positively  wobbled  when  Armathwaite  threw 
a  protecting  arm  round  the  desired  one's 
shoulders.  So  he  listened,  open-mouthed,  when 
Armathwaite  spoke. 

"Sorry  I  wasn't  at  home,  Meg,  dear,  when 
Mr.  Walker  arrived — or  he  wouldn't  have 
troubled  you,"  the  mysterious  stranger  was 
saying.  There  was  an  unpleasant  glint  in  the 


THE  STORM  BREAKS  109 

steely  glance  that  accompanied  the  next  words : 

"Now,  Mr.  Walker,  come  outside,  and  ex- 
plain your  business." 

But  Walker  was  no  country  bumpkin,  to  be 
overawed  and  silenced  by  a  man  of  superior 
social  status.  He  was  puzzled,  and  stung, 
stung  beyond  hope  of  cure.  Yet  he  was  not 
afraid.  Certain  qualities  of  sharpness  and 
cuteness  warned  him  that  if  he  controlled  his 
temper,  and  did  not  bluster,  he  held  the  whip 
hand  in  a  situation  of  which  the  true  in- 
wardness was  still  hidden. 

"My  business  is  not  with  you,  Mr.  Armath- 
waite,"  he  said,  with  the  utmost  civility  his- 
tongue  was  capable  of.  "I  heard  of  Miss 
Garth's  arrival,  and  came  to  see  her.  It's  not 
my  fault  if  she's  vexed  at  what  I've  said.  I 
meant  no  offense.  I  only  told  the  truth." 

"I  have  reason  to  believe  that  you  forced 
yourself  into  Miss  Garth's  presence;"  and,  in 
repeating  the  name,  Armathwaite  pressed  the 
girl's  shoulder  gently  as  an  intimation  that 
no  good  purpose  would  be  served  by  any  cor- 
rection in  that  respect.  "Again,  and  for  the 
last  time,  I  request  you  to  leave  her." 

"There's  no  last  time  about  it,"  said 
Walker,  who  was  watching  Marguerite's  wan 
and  terror-stricken  face.  "I  had  a  perfect 
right  to  call  on  Meg  Garth.  She  daren't  pre- 
tend she  doesn't  know  me,  and  a  false  name 


110  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

can't  humbug  me,  or  Tom  Bland,  for  that 
matter." 

"I  know  you  only  too  well,"  broke  in  the 
girl  with  a  vehemence  that  brought  a  mo- 
mentary rush  of  color  to  her  cheeks.  "You 
annoyed  me  for  two  years,  and  I'm  sorry 
now  I  didn't  complain  to  my  father  about 
your  ridiculous  oglings  and  shilling  boxes  of 
chocolates,  which  I  gave  to  the  village  chil- 
dren. ' ' 

She  struck  harder  than  she  knew.  Walker 
bridled  like  an  annoyed  turkey-cock.  Armath- 
waite  pressed  Marguerite's  shoulder  a  second 
time,  and  withdrew  his  hand. 

"If  your  ungracious  admirer  won't  leave 
you,  Meg,  you  had  better  leave  him,"  he  said, 
smiling  into  her  woebegone  face.  "Go  into 
the  drawing-room,  or  join  Mrs.  Jackson.  I'll 
deal  with  Mr.  Walker." 

He  held  the  door  open,  purposely  blotting 
Walker  out  of  sight,  and  the  girl  obeyed.  She 
went  out  bravely  enough,  but  he  caught  a 
smothered  sob  as  she  passed  towards  the 
kitchen.  There  also,  he  was  bitterly  aware, 
danger  lurked  in  other  guise,  though  the  two 
well-disposed  women  might  perchance  have  the 
wit  to  discredit  Walker's  revelations,  whatever 
they  were. 

Closing  the  door,  which  swung  half  open 
again  without  his  knowledge,  he  turned  an  in- 


THE  STORM  BREAKS  111 

quiring  and  most  unfriendly  eye  on  the  un- 
wanted visitor. 

"I  hope  you  are  ashamed  of  yourself,"  he 
said  quietly. 

If  Walker  had  understood  mankind  better,  he 
would  not  have  misinterpreted  that  suave  ut- 
terance by  imagining,  as  he  did,  that  it  betok- 
ened fear  of  exposure.  Unhappily,  he  strutted, 
and  slapped  a  gaitered  leg  with  a  switch  he  car- 
ried in  place  of  a  whip. 

"Ashamed  of  nothing,"  he  answered  truc- 
ulently. "I  admit  being  sweet  on  the  girl. 
What  is  there  to  be  ashamed  of  in  that,  I'd 
like  to  know?" 

"It's  distinctly  to  your  credit,  in  some 
ways,"  said  Armathwaite.  "I  should  have  ex- 
pected your  tastes  to  run  rather  to  barmaids, 
with  an  ultimate  vote  in  favor  of  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  well-to-do  butcher.  I  dislike  class 
distinctions,  Walker.  Too  often  they  savor 
of  snobbery;  but,  in  this  instance,  I  am  obliged 
to  remind  you  that  my  cousin  is  a  lady." 

"Oh,  is  that  it?  Cousins,  are  you?  I  wish 
you'd  told  me  sooner." 

"Why?" 

"It  might  have  saved  this  bit  of  bother,  any- 
how. ' ' 

"I  don't  think  that  any  well-meant  explana- 
tions on  my  part  could  cure  you  of  an  impert- 
inent nature,  Walker." 


112  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"Dash  it  all,  Mr.  Armathwaite,  why  couldn't 
I  visit  Meg?  I've  seen  and  spoken  to  her 
scores  of  times." 

"But,  even  in  Nuttonby,  one  does  not  thrust 
one's  presence  on  a  lady  uninvited." 

Walker  laughed.  He  could  stand  any 
amount  of  reproof  as  to  his  manners,  because 
he  rather  prided  himself  on  a  swaggering  dis- 
regard of  other  people's  feelings. 

"We  don't  stand  on  ceremony  in  York- 
shire," he  said  jauntily.  "I  opened  the  door, 
and  actually  heard  her  voice.  There  was  no 
sense  in  Betty  Jackson  sayin'  Miss  Garth 
wasn't  here,  and  I  told  her  so  pretty  plainly. 
Then,  out  she  came.  What  would  you  have 
done,  in  my  shoes?  Now,  I  ask  you,  sir,  as 
man  to  man." 

"I  would  have  striven  not  to  insult  her 
so  grossly  that  she  should  be  moved  to 
tears." 

"But  I  didn't.  Don't  you  believe  it.  I  was 
pleasant  as  could  be.  She  behaved  like  a 
regular  little  spit-fire.  Turned  on  me  as  though 
she'd  been  waitin'  for  the  chance.  I  can 
stand  a  lot,  but  I'm  jiggered  if  I'd  let  her  tell 
me  she'd  complain  to  her  father,  and  have 
him  take  away  the  agency  of  the  property 
from  our  firm,  when  her  father  is  buried  these 
two  years  in  Bellerby  churchyard.  Why,  she 
must  think  I'm  dotty." 


THE  STORM  BREAKS  113 

Armathwaite  moistened  his  lips  with  his 
tongue. 

"You  enlightened  her  ignorance,  I  pre- 
sume?" he  inquired  blandly. 

"I  didn't  know  what  she  was  gettin'  at, 
but  I  asked  her  plump  and  plain  who  the 
' Stephen  Garth'  was  who  hanged  himself  in 
this  very  house,  and  has  his  name  and  the 
date  of  his  death  on  the  stone  over  his 
grave.  ...  It  strikes  me  that  even  you 
don't  know  the  facts,  Mr.  Armathwaite.  If 
her  father  is  alive,  who  was  the  man  who 
committed  suicide?"  .  .  .  And,  by  jing,  did 
he  commit  suicide?" 

James  "Walker's  theorizing  ended  suddenly. 

"You  poisonous  little  rat!"  murmured 
Armathwaite,  and  seized  him.  Walker  was 
young  and  active,  and  by  no  means  a  weakling 
or  cowardly,  but  he  resembled  a  jackal  in  the 
grip  of  a  tiger  when  the  hands  closed  on  him 
which  had  choked  the  life  out  of  Nas'r-ulla 
Khan,  chief  cut-throat  of  the  Usman  Khel. 
There  was  no  struggle.  He  was  flung  face 
downwards  on  the  table  until  the  door  was 
thrown  wide.  Then  he  was  bundled  neck  and 
crop  out  of  the  house,  and  kicked  along  the 
twenty  yards  of  curving  path  to  the  gate. 

There  Armathwaite  released  him,  a  limp 
and  profane  object. 

"Now,  go  to  Nuttonby,   and  stop  there!" 


114  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

was  the  parting  injunction  he  received.  His 
bitterest  humiliation  lay  in  the  knowledge  that 
Marguerite  Garth  and  Betty  Jackson,  hearing 
the  racket,  had  rushed  to  hall  and  door,  and 
were  gloating  over  his  discomfiture.  A  drop 
of  bitterest  gall  was  added  by  his  assailant's 
subsequent  behavior,  for  Armathwaite  turned 
his  back  on  him,  and  sauntered  slowly  to  the 
house,  seemingly  quite  assured  that  there 
would  be  no  counter-attack.  And,  indeed, 
James  Walker  retained  sufficient  sense  in 
his  frenzied  brain  to  realize  that  he  had  no 
earthly  chance  in  a  physical  struggle  with 
this  demon  of  a  man.  So  he  climbed  into 
the  dog-cart,  though  not  with  his  wonted 
agility,  and  drove  away  to  Nuttonby  without 
ever  a  backward  glance. 

But  he  vowed  vengeance,  vowed  it  with  all 
the  intensity  of  a  mean  and  stubborn  nature. 
He  had  visions,  at  first,  of  a  successful  action 
for  assault  and  battery;  but,  as  his  rage  mod- 
erated, he  saw  certain  difficulties  in  the  way. 
His  only  witnesses  would  be  hostile,  and  it  was 
even  questionable  if  a  bench  of  magistrates 
would  convict  Armathwaite  when  it  was  shown 
that  he,  Walker,  had  virtually  forced  an  entry 
into  the  house,  and  refused  to  leave  when  re- 
quested. 

But  he  could  strike  more  subtly  and  vindic- 
tively through  the  authorities.  Marguerite 


THE  STORM  BREAKS  115 

Garth  had  said  that  Stephen  Garth  was  living, 
and  Robert  Armathwaite — that  compound  of 
iron  knuckles  and  whip-cord  muscles — had 
tacitly  endorsed  the  statement.  If  that  was 
true,  who  was  the  man  buried  in  Stephen 
Garth's  name  and  identity  in  the  churchyard 
at  Bellerby?  He  had  a  vague  recollection  of 
some  difference  of  opinion  between  the  coroner 
and  a  doctor  at  the  inquest.  He  must  refresh 
his  memory  by  consulting  a  file  of  the  Nut- 
tonby  Gazette.  In  any  event,  he  could  stir  a 
hornets'  nest  into  furious  activity  and  search 
the  innermost  recesses  of  the  Grange  with 
anguish-laden  darts.  Curse  Meg  Garth  and 
her  cousin!  He'd  teach  both  of  'em,  that  he 
would!  If  they  thought  that  James  Walker 
was  done  with  because  he  had  been  flouted 
and  ill-used,  they  were  jolly  well  mistaken,  see 
if  they  weren't! 

Marguerite  Ogilvey  was  as  tender-hearted 
a  girl  as  ever  breathed,  but  it  needed  super- 
human qualities — qualities  that  no  woman 
could  possibly  possess  and  have  red  blood  in 
her  veins — to  restrain  the  fierce  joy  which 
thrilled  her  being  when  she  saw  her  persecutor 
driven  forth  with  contumely.  Betty  Jackson, 
the  village  maid,  was  delighted  but  shocked; 
Marguerite,  the  educated  and  well-bred  young 
lady,  rejoiced  candidly. 

"You've  done  just  what  I  would  have  done 


116  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

if  I  were  a  strong  man  like  you!"  she  cried 
tremulously,  when  Armathwaite  faced  her  at 
the  door.  There  was  a  light  in  her  eyes 
which  he  gave  no  heed  to  at  the  moment — 
the  light  which  comes  into  the  eyes  of  woman 
when  she  is  defended  by  her  chosen  mate- 
but  he  attributed  it  to  excitement,  and  hastened 
to  calm  her. 

"I  may  have  acted  rashly,"  he  said;  "but 
I  couldn't  help  it.  Sometimes,  one  has  to  take 
the  law  into  one's  own  hands.  Surely,  this 
is  one  of  the  occasions." 

"He'll  keep  clear  of  Elmdale  for  a  bit," 
chortled  Betty.  "P'raps  he  thinks  no  one 
saw  you  kickin'  him  except  ourselves.  He's 
wrong!  Half  the  village  knows  it!  Old  Mrs. 
Bolland  nearly  fell  out  of  an  upstairs  window 
with  cranin'  her  neck  to  see  what  was  goin' 
on,  an'  there's  little  Johnnie  Headlam  runnin' 
down  the  ten-acre  field  now  to  tell  Mr.  Burt 
an'  his  men  all  about  it." 

The  girl  had  thoughtlessly  blurted  out  a 
fact  of  far-reaching  import.  Armathwaite 
swung  on  his  heel,  and  found  gaping  faces 
at  every  cottage  backwindow,  and  above  every 
hedge.  Sleepy  Elmdale  had  waked.  Its 
usually  deserted  street  was  pullulating  with 
child  life.  The  sharp  Walkers  were  some- 
what too  sharp  on  the  land  agency  side  of 
their  business,  and  were  cordially  hated  in 


THE  STORM  BREAKS  117 

consequence.  The  bouncing  of  Walker,  junior, 
had  not  made  him  popular;  his  trouncing 
would  provide  a  joyous  epic  for  many  a  day. 
As  for  Marguerite  Ogilvey's  presence  in  the 
house,  it  was  known  far  and  wide  already. 
She  had  been  recognized  by  dozens  of  people. 
Elmdale,  which  might  have  figured  as  Gold- 
smith's deserted  village  five  minutes  earlier, 
was  now  a  thriving  place,  all  eyes  and  cackling 
tongues. 

Armathwaite  had  lost  sight  of  that  highly 
probable  outcome  of  his  action,  nor  did  it 
trouble  him  greatly.  The  major  happening, 
which  he  had  striven  so  valiantly  to  avert, 
had  come  about  through  no  fault  of  his;  these 
minor  issues  were  trivial  and  might  be  dis- 
regarded. In  an  earthquake  the  crumbling  of 
a  few  bricks  more  or  less  is  a  matter  of  small 
account.  He  knew  that  when  Marguerite 
Ogilvey  had  almost  forgotten  the  downfall  of 
Walker  she  would  remember  its  immediate 
cause  the  more  poignantly. 

"Hadn't  we  better  go  indoors  till  the  wea- 
ther is  cooler?"  he  said,  and  the  sound  of 
his  calm  voice,  no  less  than  the  smile  he 
managed  to  summon  in  aid,  relaxed  the  ten- 
sion. 

"Please,  miss,  shall  I  make  a  fresh  pot  of 
tea?"  inquired  Betty  when  the  door  was 
closed.  There  spoke  the  true  Yorkshire  breed. 


118  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

Let  the  heavens  fall,  but  don't  miss  a  meal. 

1  'No,"  said  Marguerite,  holding  her  open 
hands  pressed  close  to  eyes  and  cheeks. 

"Yes,"  said  Armathwaite — "that  is,  if  Miss 
Meg  has  not  had  her  tea." 

Betty  nodded,  and  hastened  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, where,  it  appeared,  tea  was  awaiting 
Armathwaite 's  return  when  Walker  arrived 
on  the  scene.  She  emerged,  carrying  a  tea- 
pot, and  went  to  the  kitchen.  Marguerite  was 
now  crying  silently.  When  the  man  caught 
her  arm,  meaning  to  lead  her  gently  into  the 
drawing-room,  she  broke  into  a  very  tempest 
of  weeping,  just  as  a  child  yields  to  an  aban- 
donment of  grief  when  most  assured  of  sym- 
pathy and  protection. 

He  took  her  to  a  chair,  but  did  not  attempt 
to  pacify  her.  For  one  thing,  he  had  a  man's 
belief  that  a  woman's  hyper-sensitive  nervous 
system  may  find  benefit  in  what  is  known  as 
"a  good  cry;"  for  another,  he  was  not  sorry 
to  have  a  brief  respite  during  which  to  col- 
lect and  criticize  his  own  ideas.  He  did  not 
even  try  to  conceal  from  himself  the  ugly  fact 
that  James  Walker  had  put  into  one  or  two 
sentences  of  concentrated  venom  all  that  was 
known  to  him  (Armathwaite)  concerning  the 
death  in  the  house,  and  even  a  little  more, 
because  he  had  not  learnt  previously  that 
Stephen  Garth  was  buried  at  Bellerby.  Nor 


THE  STORM  BREAKS  119 

did  he  permit  himself  to  under-rate  Mar- 
guerite's intelligence.  Her  heedless  vivacity, 
and  the  occasional  use  of  school-girl  slang  in 
her  speech,  were  the  mere  externals  of  a 
thoughtful  and  well-stored  mind.  There  was 
not  the  least  chance  that  she  would  miss  any 
phase  of  the  tragedy  which  had  puzzled  and 
almost  bewildered  him  by  its  vagueness  and 
mystery.  She  would  recall  his  own  perplexed 
questions  of  the  previous  night.  In  all  likeli- 
hood the  Jacksons,  mother  and  daughter,  had 
said  things  which  fuller  knowledge  would 
clothe  with  sinister  significance.  Walker's 
open-mouthed  brutality  had  left  nothing  to 
the  imagination.  When  Marguerite  Ogilvey 
spoke,  Armathwaite  felt  that  he  would  be 
called  on  to  deal  with  the  most  difficult  prob- 
lem he  had  ever  tackled. 

When  Betty  came  with  a  replenished  tea- 
pot she  would  have  attempted  to  soothe  the 
girl's  convulsive  sobbing  had  not  Armathwaite 
intervened. 

" Leave  Miss  Meg  to  me,"  he  said.  "She's 
going  to  stop  crying  in  a  minute,  and  vow 
that  she  looks  a  perfect  fright,  and  must 
really  go  to  her  room  and  bathe  her  eyes. 
And  I'm  going  to  tell  her  that  a  handkerchief 
dipped  in  a  teaspoonful  of  milk  and  dabbed 
on  red  eyes  is  more  refreshing  and  healing 
than  a  bucketful  of  cold  water.  Then  we'll 


120  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

have  tea,  and  eke  a  stroll  on  the  moor,  and 
perchance  Providence  will  send  us  a  quiet 
hour  in  which  to  look  at  facts  squarely  in  the 
face,  whereupon  some  of  us  will  know  just 
where  we  are,  and  the  world  will  not  be  quite 
so  topsy-turvy  as  it  appears  at  this  moment." 

Betty  gathered  that  the  "master's"  ha- 
rangue was  not  meant  for  her,  and  withdrew, 
whereupon  Marguerite  dropped  her  hands  and 
lifted  her  swimming  eyes  to  Armathwaite 's 
grave  and  kindly  face. 

"Is  that  milk  recipe  of  yours  really  in- 
tended for  use?"  she  inquired,  with  a  piteous 
attempt  at  a  smile. 

"The  whole  program  has  been  carefully 
planned  on  the  most  up-to-date  and  utilitarian 
lines,"  he  answered. 

"Did  you  hurt  Walker?"  was  her  next 
rather  unexpected  question,  while  pouring  some 
milk  into  a  saucer. 

"Yes." 

"I'm  glad." 

"How  many  boxes  of  chocolates  did  he 
send  you?" 

"About  half  a  dozen." 

"Then  I  kicked  him  at  least  once  for  each 
box — gave  good  measure,  too." 

"It's  horrid  and  un- Christian — still,  I'm 
glad.  Do  you  take  sugar  and  cream?" 

"Of  course." 


TEE  STORM  BREAKS  121 

4 'Why  of  course?     Some  people  don't." 

1  'I'm  an  emphatic  person  in  my  likes  and 
dislikes,  so  I  talk  that  way." 

"I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  if 
you  were  not  here." 

"You  are  too  charitable.  It  is  my  being 
here  that  has  caused  all  the  worry." 

"No,  I  cannot  take  that  view.     There  are^S 
happenings  in  life  which,  at  the  hour,  seem  to    I 
be  the  outcome  of  mere  chance,  but  one  realizes  / 
later    that    they   were    inevitable    as    autumn  \ 
after  spring." 

"What  a  libel  on  our  English  climate,"  he 
laughed.  "Is  there  no  summer,  then?  What 
about  this  present  glorious  revel  of  sunshine? 
Charles  the  Second,  who  never  said  a  foolish 
thing  and  never  did  a  wise  one,  remarked  one 
day  that,  in  his  opinion,  England  possessed 
the  best  climate  in  the  world,  because  no  day 
was  too  hot  or  too  cold  to  prevent  a  man  from 
going  out  of  doors.  I've  seen  more  of  the 
world,  geographically  speaking,  than  his  king- 
ship, yet  I  agree  with  him." 

"My   father "    she    began,    but    choked 

suddenly. 

"Tell  me  this,  Meg:  how  long  is  it  since  you 
last  saw  your  father?"  he  demanded,  well 
knowing  the  futility  of  any  attempt  to  divert 
her  mind  from  a  topic  which  must  surely 
occupy  it  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else. 


122  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"  Just  a  week  ago,"  she  faltered. 

"Good!  I  need  not  insist,  then,  that  our 
young  friend  in  the  red  waistcoat  is  mistaken 
when  Ijie  says  that  your  father  occupies  a  grave 
in  Bellerby  churchyard!  Of  course,  I'm  not 
pretending  that  you  and  I  are  not  faced  with 
a  strange  problem.  "With  your  permission,  I 
propose  that  we  solve  it  together.  I'll  keep 
nothing  back.  You,  on  your  part,  must  an- 
swer such  questions  as  I  think  necessary— 
unless,  that  is,  you  feel  I  am  trespassing  un- 
duly into  the  private  affairs  of  your  family. 
I'm  not  well  posted  in  the  turns  and  twists 
of  English  country  life,  but  I  am  quite  certain 
of  two  things — first,  the  mystery  attached  to 
this  house  must  be  dissipated  now,  because 
the  police  authorities  will  insist  on  it;  second, 
if  they  beat  me,  and  you  suffer,  they'll  have 
achieved  something  that  no  set  of  officials  has 
succeeded  in  doing  hitherto.  Now,  I  want  you 
to  believe  that,  and  to  act  in  the  assumption 
that  God  is  in  heaven,  and  all  is  well  with 
the  world." 

The  girl  smiled  through  her  tears,  and 
strove  gallantly  to  eat  one  of  the  cheese-cakes 
for  which  Mrs.  Jackson  was  renowned. 

"Bob,"  she  said,  after  a  little  while,  "will 
you  tell  me  why  you  came  to  Elmdale?" 

"I  wanted  peace  and  solitude,  plus  some 
trout-fishing. ' ' 


THE  STORM  BREAKS  123 

"Yet  you  speak  of  engaging  in  some  ter- 
rible combat  against  the  law  on  my  account." 

4 'Aren't  you  rather  jumping  at  conclusions? 
Circumstances  have  conspired  to  build  a 
bogey.  A  ghost  which  all  Elmdale  has  seen 
in  the  hall  resolves  itself,  on  inquiry,  into  a 
shadow  cast  by  a  stained-glass  window.  Cer- 
tain murderous-sounding  thumps  which  I 
heard  last  night  materialize  into  a  charming 
young  lady.  Why  shouldn  't  a  death  which  took 
place  in  this  house  two  years  since  prove 
equally  susceptible  of  a  simple  explanation? 
No,  we're  not  going  to  convert  ourselves  into 
a  committee  of  two  until  you  have  taken  one 
more  cup  of  tea,  one  more  cake,  or  two  slices 
of  bread  and  butter.  Then  you'll  put  on  a  hat, 
and  I'll  light  a  pipe,  and  we'll  climb  up  to  the 
moor.  On  the  way  I'll  impart  every  scrap 
of  information  I've  gathered  thus  far,  and, 
when  you  have  considered  the  situation  in  such 
light  as  I  am  able  to  cast  on  it,  you  will  de- 
cide whether  or  not  you  are  justified  in  telling 
me  something  of  your  recent  history.  Is  it  a 
bargain?" 

Armathwaite  was  only  talking  for  the  sake 
of  keeping  the  girl's  mind  from  brooding  on 
the  extraordinary  facts  thrust  on  her  by 
Walker.  He  was  sure  she  would  treat  a 
phenomenal  set  of  affairs  more  rationally  if 
she  heard  the  story  from  his  own  lips.  He 


124  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

would  have  liked,  if  possible,  to  have  glanced 
over  the  report  of  the  inquest  in  the  newspaper 
promised  by  Betty,  but  decided  that  Margue- 
rite Ogilvey  must  not  be  left  to  her  own 
thoughts  one  instant  longer  than  was  ab- 
solutely necessary. 

Examination  of  the  newspaper  was  deferred, 
therefore.  When  the  girl  ran  downstairs 
to  join  him  she  had  tied  some  scrap  of  blue 
veil  over  her  hat  in  such  wise  that  her  face 
was  screened  in  profile,  so,  as  they  breasted 
the  hill  together,  he  could  hardly  judge  of 
the  effect  of  the  curious  story  he  had  to  relate. 
He  omitted  nothing,  minimized  no  detail. 
From  the  moment  of  his  entry  into  the  office 
of  Walker  &  Son,  at  Nuttonby,  he  gave  a  full 
and  lucid  narrative.  Rather  losing  sight  of 
his  own  altruism  in  his  eagerness  to  show 
how  essential  it  was  that  they  should  meet 
attack  with  the  confidence  engendered  by  be- 
ing prepared  for  all  possible  developments,  he 
was  not  aware  of  the  wondering  glances  which 
Marguerite  shot  at  him  with  increasing  fre- 
quency. 

At  last,  he  made  an  end.  They  had  walked 
a  mile  or  more,  he  talking  steadily  and  the 
girl  listening,  only  interposing  a  word  now 
and  again  to  show  that  she  followed  what  he 
was  saying,  when  he  saw  a  man  seated  by 
the  roadside  at  a  little  distance.  The  road 


THE  STORM  BREAKS  125 

dipped  sharply  at  this  point.  They  had 
crossed  the  first  of  a  series  of  undulations 
which  formed  the  great  plateau  of  the  moor, 
and  Elmdale  and  its  pastures  were  completely 
hidden. 

"Shall  we  turn  back?"  he  said.  "This  fel- 
low in  front  looks  like  a  weary  tourist,  but  I 
fancy  you  don't  want  to  meet  anyone  just 
now,  and  I  haven't  noticed  a  branch  path 
through  the  heather." 

Marguerite  was  gazing  curiously  at  the  bent 
figure.  Her  eyes  held  the  expression  of  one 
who  sees  something  familiar  while  the  other 
senses  refuse  to  be  convinced.  Armathwaite, 
by  reason  of  the  veil,  could  not  see  that  half- 
startled,  wholly  skeptical  look,  but  her  at- 
titude was  enough. 

"Do  you  think  you  know  that  chap?"  he  said. 

Perhaps,  in  that  quiet  moorland,  his  voice 
carried  farther  than  he  imagined.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  the  tired  one  raised  his  drooping 
head,  and  looked  their  way. 

"Why,  it  is — it  must  be!"  cried  Marguerite 
excitedly,  though  no  man  could  guess  whether 
she  was  pleased  or  annoyed. 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  about  it,"  agreed 
Armathwaite. 

"But,  don't  you  see,  he's  waving  to  us? 
It's  Percy  Whittaker!  Has  he  dropped  from 
the  skies?" 


126    THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

1  'With  a  bump,  I  should  guess,"  said  Arma- 
thwaite. 

But  inwardly  he  raged.  Were  these  com- 
plications never  to  cease?  That  dejected 
figure  was  eloquent  of  fate.  Somehow,  its 
worn  and  nerveless  aspect  was  menacing. 

Yet,  he  laughed,  being  one  who  flaunted  for- 
tune in  that  way. 

"If  it  really  is  Percy,  let's  go  and  cheer 
him  up,"  he  said.  "He  looks  as  though  he 
needed  comforting." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  FAINT-HEARTED   ALLY 

THAT  moment  was  a  vital  one  in  the  lives  of 
those  two;  it  influenced  the  lives  of  others  in 
lesser  degree,  but  to  Marguerite  Ogilvey  and 
Robert  Armathwaite  it  meant  so  much  that 
the  man,  in  calm  review  of  events  subse- 
quently, saw  that  it  stood  out  from  minor 
incidents  in  exactly  the  same  dominant  pro- 
portion as  James  Walker's  hurried  descent  on 
Mrs.  Jackson's  cottage  on  the  preceding 
day. 

Had  Walker  remained  in  the  dog-cart,  and 
shouted  for  the  keys  of  the  Grange,  Mrs.  Jack- 
son would  have  contrived,  by  hook  or  by 
crook,  to  delay  the  examination  of  the  house 
until  Betty  had  smuggled  "Miss  Meg"  into 
safety,  in  which  case  Armathwaite  would 
never  have  met  her.  And,  now,  if  the  girl  had 
quickened  her  pace — in  eager  delight,  perhaps, 
breaking  into  a  run — had  she,  either  by  voice 
or  manner,  shown  that  the  unforeseen  pres- 
ence of  Percy  Whittaker  on  the  moor  was  not 
only  an  extraordinary  event  in  itself,  but  one 
which  she  hailed  with  unmitigated  joy,  Arma- 

127 


128  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

thwaite  would  assuredly  have  stifled  certain 
vague  whisperings  of  imagination  which,  ere 
long,  might  exercise  a  disastrous  influence  on 
the  theory  he  held  in  common  with  a  well- 
known  British  general — namely,  that  empire- 
builders  should  not  be  married.  But  she  stood 
stock  still,  and,  without  turning  her  head  so 
that  Armathwaite  might  see  her  face,  said 
quietly : 

"Well,  it  is  the  unexpected  that  happens, 
and  the  last  person  I  dreamed  of  seeing  to- 
day was  Master  Percy." 

"Are  you  sure  it  is  Whittaker?"  inquired 
Armathwaite. 

He  put  the  question  merely  for  the  sake 
of  saying  something  banal  and  commonplace. 
Not  for  an  instant  did  he  doubt  the  accuracy 
of  Marguerite's  clear  brown  eyes;  but,  oddly 
enough,  the  behavior  of  the  dejected  figure  by 
the  roadside  lent  reasonable  cause  for  the  im- 
plied doubt.  Never  did  tired  wayfarer  look 
more  weary  or  disconsolate.  After  that  first 
glance,  and  a  listless  gesture,  the  stranger 
showed  no  other  sign  of  recognition.  To  all 
seeming,  he  had  reached  the  limit  of  his  re- 
sources, physical  and  mental. 

"Sure!"  echoed  the  girl.  "Of  course,  I'm 
sure.  There's  only  one  Percy,  and  it's  there 
now,  beastly  fagged  after  a  long  walk  on  a 
hot  day  in  thin  patent-leather  shoes.  Doesn't 


A  FAINT-HEARTED  ALLY        129 

it  remind  you  of  a  plucked  weed  drooping  in 
the  sunshine?" 

She  moved  on,  walking  rapidly  now,  but  a 
slight  undertone  of  annoyance  had  crept  into 
her  voice,  tinging  her  humor  with  sarcasm. 
Armathwaite  said  nothing.  The  sun-laved 
landscape  glowed  again  after  a  few  seconds 
of  cold  brilliance — a  natural  phenomenon  all 
the  more  remarkable  inasmuch  as  no  cloud 
flecked  the  sky. 

Thus,  in  silence,  they  neared  the  limp  in- 
dividuality huddled  dejectedly  on  a  strip  of 
turf  by  the  roadside.  To  Armathwaite 's  care- 
fully suppressed  amusement,  he  saw  that  the 
wanderer  was  indeed  wearing  thin,  patent- 
leather  shoes. 

" Percy!"  cried  the  girl. 

Percy  looked  up  again.  He  drew  the  fore- 
finger of  his  right  hand  around  the  back  of 
his  neck  between  collar  and  skin,  as  though 
his  head  required  adjustment  in  this  new  posi- 
tion. 

" Hallo,  Meg!"  he  said,  and  the  greeting 
was  not  only  languid  but  bored. 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  here?" 
she  went  on,  halting  in  front  of  him. 

"I  dunno,"  he  said.  "I'm  beastly  fagged, 
I  can  tell  you — " 

Armathwaite  smiled,  but  Marguerite  laughed 
outright. 


130  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"There's  nothing  to  grin  at,"  came  the 
querulous  protest.  "Once  upon  a  time  I 
labored  under  the  impression  that  England 
was  a  civilized  country,  but  now  I  find  it's 
habitable  only  in  parts,  and  this  isn't  one 
of  the  parts,  not  by  a  jolly  long  way.  I  say, 
Meg,  you  booked  to  Leyburn,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"But  you  never  walked  over  this  moor?" 

"I  did." 

"Well,  I  wish  I'd  known  as  much  about 
Yorkshire  before  I  started  as  I  do  now— 
that's  all." 

Again  he  twisted  his  neck  and  freed  it  from 
the  chafing  contact  of  a  tight  collar.  After 
a  curious  peep  at  Armathwaite,  he  bent  a 
pair  of  gray-green  eyes  on  the  turf  at  his 
feet  once  more. 

"Percy,  don't  be  stupid,  but  tell  me  why 
you've  come,"  cried  Marguerite.  "There's 
no  bad  news  from  home,  is  there?" 

"No — that's  all  right.     Edie  sent  me." 

"Why?" 

"You  said  you'd  wire  or  write.  When  no 
telegram  came  yesterday,  and  no  letter  this 
morning,  she  bundled  me  off  by  the  next  train. 
'Go  and  see  what  has  become  of  her?'  was 
the  order,  and  here  I  am.  Where  am  I, 
please?" 

"Near  Elmdale.    I'm  awfully  sorry,  Percy. 


A  FAINT-HEARTED  ALLY         131 

I — I  couldn't  either  telegraph  or  write  yester- 
day. I've  written  to-day — " 

1 ' Near  Elmdale!"  he  broke  in.  "Is  it  what 
the  natives  hereabouts  call  'a  canny  bit' 
away?" 

"No — only  a  little  over  a  mile.  Poor 
Percy!" 

"Idiotic  Percy!  Percy,  the  silly  ass!  Percy, 
the  blithering  idiot!  D'you  see  that  suit- 
case?" and  he  swayed  slightly,  and  directed 
a  mournful  glance  at  a  small,  leather  port- 
manteau lying  by  his  side.  "I've  sent  that 
dashed  thing,  packed  as  it  is  now,  by  rail  and 
parcels  post  scores  of  times,  and  they  gener- 
ally make  it  out  as  weighing  about  eleven 
pounds.  That's  a  bally  mistake.  I  must  have 
swindled  the  railway  companies  and  the  Post 
Office  out  of  a  pot  of  money.  It  weighs  a 
ton — one  solid  ton.  And  I've  carried  it  dozens 
of  miles.  Me,  mind  you,  who  hates  carrying 
things,  clung  to  it  as  if  my  life  depended  on 
it.  I  started  out  from  Leyburn  station  hours 
and  hours  ago.  I  asked  a  chap  how  far  it 
was  to  Elmdale  across  the  moor.  He  showed 
me  the  road,  and  said:  'It's  a  gay  bit, 
maister.'  I  climbed  a  hill  at  least  five  miles 
high — higher  than  any  mountain  in  Europe 
I  can  remember  reading  about — and  met  a 
man.  'Is  this  the  way  to  Elmdale?'  I  in- 
quired. 'Ay,'  he  said.  'How  far?'  said  I. 


132  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

'It's  a  nice  bit,  maister,'  said  he.  Being,  as 
I  thought,  on  top  of  the  hill,  I  imagined  that 
all  I  had  to  do  was  to  walk  down  the  other 
side;  so  I  left  him  and  rambled  on.  After 
walking  miles  and  miles  I  met  another  man. 
'How  far  to  Elmdale?'  I  said.  'It's  a  canny 
bit,  maister,'  was  his  contribution.  That 
knocked  me  out.  I  left  him  without  another 
word.  I  staggered  more  miles,  till  I  got  this 
far;  but  when  I  saw  the  next  hill  I  gave  in. 
Tell  me  the  worst,  Meg,  before  I  lie  down  and 
die.  How  far  is  it  to  Elmdale,  really?" 

"Mr.  Armathwaite  will  carry  your  suit- 
case, and  I'll  take  your  arm,  and  you'll  be  at 
the  Grange  in  twenty  minutes.  It's  all  down 
hill  after  we  leave  this  slight  dip." 

"Mr.  Armathwaite?"  inquired  Percy  dully, 
quite  ignoring  the  other  man's  courteous  smile 
at  the  implied  introduction. 

"Yes,  the  new  tenant  of  our  house." 
"First  I've  heard  of  any  new  tenant." 
"Nothing  surprising  in  that,"  and  Margue- 
rite's voice   grew  almost   snappy.     "Get  up, 
anyhow,  unless  you  wish  to  have  a  mattress 
and  a  quilt  brought  here." 

The  young  man  rose.  He  was  not  affecting 
a  weariness  he  did  not  feel.  Being  a  weedy 
youth,  not  built  for  feats  of  athleticism,  the 
long  walk  in  a  hot  sun  over  difficult  country 
had  taxed  his  physique  unduly. 


A  FAINT-HEARTED  ALLY         133 

"How  d'ye  do?"  he  said,  raising  lack-luster 
eyes  to  Armathwaite 's. 

"I'm  fit  as  a  fiddle,"  said  Armathwaite 
cheerfully,  grabbing  the  portmanteau.  "So 
will  you  be  to-morrow.  In  fact,  you'll  be  sur- 
prised how  quickly  your  muscles  will  lose 
their  stiffness  when  you  sight  the  journey's- 
end." 

"I've  been  doing  that  every  five  minutes 
during  the  past  two  hours,"  was  the  doleful 
answer. 

Armathwaite  nodded  sympathetically.  Percy 
Whittaker  struck  him  as  a  flabby  creature, 
whose  conversational  style  was  unintention- 
ally funny.  Like  Falstaff,  if  not  humorous 
in  himself,  he  was  "the  cause  of  humor  in 
others." 

Truth  to  tell,  Armathwaite  gave  him  slight 
heed.  He  was  mainly  interested  in  Marguerite 
Ogilvey's  attitude,  and  she  was  markedly  ir- 
ritated either  by  her  friend's  lackadaisical 
pose  or  because  he  had  appeared  at  all.  The 
girl  softened,  however,  when  she  saw  how 
Percy  limped.  She  linked  an  arm  in  his,  and 
the  trio  moved  off. 

"How  often  have  I  told  you  to  wear  strong 
boots  with  good,  stout  soles?"  she  said.  "I'm 
a  good  walker  myself,  but  I  don't  tackle  these 
moor  roads  in  house  slippers.  Isn't  that  so, 
Mr.  Armathwaite?  One  ought  to  be  properly 


134  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

shod     for     trudging     about     the     country." 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand  that  I  hate 
trudging  anywhere;  the  last  thing  I  dreamed 
of  when  I  left  Chester  this  morning  was  that 
I  should  tramp  half  across  Yorkshire,"  pro- 
tested Whittaker. 

"Even  now,  I  don't  see  why  you  came." 

"Couldn't  help  myself — Edie's  orders." 

"But  why?" 

"Well— er— " 

"If  you  mean  that  she  knew  I  had  gone 
away  intending  to  wear  a  boy's  clothes  you 
needn't  spare  my  feelings.  Mr.  Armathwaite 
knows  all  about  that." 

"Does  he?  In  that  case,  I'm  spared  any 
explanation.  You  see,  Edie  was  naturally 
anxious.  As  for  me,  I  hardly  slept  a  wink 
last  night  through  worrying  about  you.  And 
then,  a  letter  came  for  you  this  morning  from 
your  father.  I  recognized  his  handwriting, 
and  it's  marked  l Immediate.'  Since  there 
was  no  news  from  you,  we  were  at  a  loss  to 
decide  on  the  best  course  to  adopt.  Now,  I 
appeal  to  you,  Mr.  Armathwaite.  Sup- 
pose— 

"I  agree  with  you  entirely,"  broke  in  Arma- 
thwaite. "I  think  Miss  Ogilvey  ought  to  be 
profoundly  grateful  for  your  self-sacrifice." 

"There,  Meg,  do  you  hear  that!  Self- 
sacrifice!  I'm  literally  skinned  in  your  ser- 


A  FAINT-HEARTED  ALLY         135 

vice,  and  you  only  pitch  into  me.  Now,  I've 
done  most  of  the  talking.  It's  your  turn. 
When  are  you  coming  home?" 

"To-morrow,  perhaps." 

"But,  I  say,  Meg!  There'll  be  a  howling 
row  with  your  people  when  they  find  out." 

"Where  is  dad's  letter?  You've  brought 
it,  of  course!" 

"Yes.  Edie  thought  that  was  the  best  plan. 
Here  you  are!" 

He  produced  a  letter  from  a  breast  pocket, 
and  sat  down  instantly  when  the  girl  mur- 
mured an  apology  and  opened  the  envelope. 
Armathwaite  refilled  his  pipe,  and  lit  it. 
While  doing  so  he  became  aware  that  Percy 
Whittaker  was  scrutinizing  him  with  a  curi- 
ously subtle  underlook,  and  the  notion  was 
borne  in  on  him  that  the  newcomer,  though 
effete  in  some  respects,  might  be  alert  enough 
in  others.  For  one  thing,  the  tired  gray- 
green  eyes  had  suddenly  become  critical;  for 
another,  a  weak  mouth  was  balanced  by  a 
somewhat  stubborn  chin.  For  all  his  amus- 
ingly plaintive  air,  this  young  man  could  be 
vindictive  if  he  chose.  At  any  rate,  Armath- 
waite realized  that  another  barrier  had  been 
thrust  in  the  way  of  Marguerite  Ogilvey's 
untroubled  departure  from  Elmdale.  Percy 
Whittaker  was  obviously  an  intimate  friend, 
and  the  extraordinary  crisis  which  had  arisen 


136  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

in  the  Ogilvey  household  could  hardly  remain 
hidden  from  him.  What  use  would  he  make 
of  the  knowledge?  How  would  such  a  flabby 
youth  act  in  circumstances  which  were  utterly 
perplexing  to  a  man  ten  years  his  senior  in 
age  and  immeasurably  more  experienced? 
Armathwaite  could  not  make  up  his  mind. 
He  must  simply  bide  his  time  and  act  as 
he  deemed  expedient  in  conditions  that  varied 
so  remarkably  from  hour  to  hour.  At  the 
moment,  he  was  in  the  position  of  the  master 
of  a  ship  becalmed  in  the  tropics,  surrounded 
by  an  unvexed  sea  and  a  cloudless  sky,  yet 
warned  by  a  sharp  fall  in  the  barometer  that 
a  typhoon  was  imminent. 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  an  ex«- 
clamation  from  the  girl. 

"Just  like  dad!"  she  cried.  "He  writes 
asking  me  to  search  among  the  old  bookshops 
of  Chester  for  one  of  the  very  volumes  I  am 
bringing  from  his  own  library.  He  knows  it 
is  here,  yet  persists  in  disregarding  the 
fact.  Mr.  Armathwaite,  what  am  I  to  think? 
Isn't  it  enough  to  turn  one's  hair 
gray?" 

"It  is  a  puzzling  situation,  certainly,"  said 
Armathwaite,  quickly  alive  to  the  fact  that, 
in  Whittaker's  presence,  at  any  rate,  the 
cousinship  had  been  dropped. 

"What   is?"   demanded   Whittaker.     "Nofr 


A  FAINT-HEARTED  ALLY         137 

much  to  make  a  fuss  about  in  searching  for 
a  book,  is  there1?*' 

"No.  But  suppose  I  tell  you  that  people 
here  declare  my  father  is  dead,  that  he  com- 
mitted suicide  two  years  ago,  that  he  is  buried 
in  a  neighboring  cemetery, .  that  his  ghost  is 
seen  o'  nights  in  our  own  house — what  would 
you  say  then,  Percy?'* 

"I'd  say  that  the  inhabitants  are  well  suited 
to  their  country,  and  the  sooner  you  and  I  are 
away  from  both,  the  better  for  the  pair  of  us." 

Meg  crumpled  up  the  letter  in  one  hand, 
and  hauled  Whittaker  to  his  feet  with  the 
other. 

"Come  on,"  she  said  emphatically.  "If 
you  hear  the  whole  story  now  you'll  collapse. 
I'm  glad  you've  arrived,  though  I  thought  at 
first  you  were  adding  to  my  worries.  You  can 
help  in  clearing  up  a  mystery.  Now,  don't 
interrupt,  but  listen!  I'm  going  to  give  you 
a  plain,  straightforward  version  of  events 
which  sound  like  the  maddest  sort  of  non- 
sense. You  wouldn't  believe  a  word  I'm  tell- 
ing you  if  Mr.  Armathwaite  wasn't  present. 
But  he  will  vouch  for  every  syllable,  and, 
when  I've  finished,  you'll  agree  that  when  I 
said  we  would  leave  here,  'to-morrow,  per- 
haps,' I  might  just  as  well  have  substituted 
'next  week'  or  'next  month'  for  'to-morrow.' 
Isn't  that  so,  Mr.  Armathwaite!" 


138  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

Armathwaite  removed  Ms  pipe  from  between 
teeth  that  were  biting  savagely  into  its  stem. 
He  wished  the  girl  had  been  more  discreet, 
yet,  how  could  he  forbid  these  confidences? 

"Yes,  and  no,"  he  answered.  "Yes,  if  you 
mean  to  constitute  yourself  into  a  court  of  in- 
quiry; no,  if  you  take  my  advice,  and  return 
to  Chester  with  Mr.  Whittaker  without  loss 
of  time." 

"How  is  that  possible?"  she  insisted,  turn- 
ing wondering  eyes  on  him.  "You  yourself 
said  that  nothing  we  can  do  now  will  stop 
the  authorities  from  re-opening  the  whole  af- 
fair. There  is  no  hope  of  closing  people's 
mouths,  Bob!  "Well,  I've  said  it,  and  now 
Percy  will  be  wild  to  learn  the  facts,  because 
Meg  Ogilvey  doesn't  run  around  calling  by 
their  Christian  names  men  whom  she  has 
known  a  day  without  very  good  reason.  But 
you  don't  know  our  local  folk  if  you  think 
our  affairs  are  not  being  talked  of  in  Elm- 
dale  and  Nuttonby  at  this  moment.  Bland 
saw  me,  and  James  Walker  will  spread  the 
tale  far  and  wide.  What  good  will  I  do  by 
running  away?  Don't  imagine  I  didn't  hear 
what  Walker  said.  He  blurted  out  what  you 
have  hinted  at.  Some  man  was  found  dead 
in  our  house.  It  wasn't  my  father.  Then, 
who  was  it?" 

In  her  excitement  she  was  hurrying  Percy 


A  FAINT-HEARTED  ALLY         139 

along  at  a  rare  pace,  and  Armathwaite  saw, 
with  a  chill  of  foreboding,  that  the  other  was 
stepping  out  without  protest,  all  an  ear  for 
impending  revelations. 

"From  that  point  of  view,  Mr.  Whittaker's 
presence  is  unquestionably  advantageous,"  he 
said.  "He  is  a  friend  in  whom  you  can  trust. 
He  is  acquainted  with  your  relatives,  I  take 
it.  His  opinions  will  consequently  be  far 
weightier  than  mine." 

"That's  the  way  Bob  talks  when  he's 
grumpy,"  said  the  girl,  apparently  for  Whit- 
taker's  benefit  alone.  "He  doesn't  mean  it 
really,  but  he  thinks  he  ought  to  behave  like 
a  stage  uncle  and  prevent  an  impulsive  young 
thing  from  acting  foolishly.  *  Yet,  all  the  time, 
he  knows  quite  well  that  we  could  no  more 
change  the  course  of  events  now  than  hold 
back  the  tide." 

"Will  you  kindly  remember  that  if  you 
were  talking  Greek,  I'd  have  just  about  as 
much  grasp  of  what  you're  saying  as  I  have 
at  this  moment?"  put  in  Whittaker. 

Thus  recalled  to  her  task,  Marguerite  did 
not  deviate  from  it  any  further.  By  the  time 
Percy  Whittaker  had  dropped  into  a  chair  in 
the  dining-room,  he  had  heard  exactly  what 
had  happened  since  Armathwaite  arrived  in 
Elmdale.  As  he  was  hungry,  a  meal  was  im- 
provised. He  said  little,  only  interpolating 


140  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

a  fairly  shrewd  question  now  and  again  while 
Marguerite  was  amplifying  some  part  of  her 
recital.  About  this  time  he  developed  a  new 
trait.  He  seemed  rather  to  shirk  comments 
which  would  draw  Armathwaite  into  the  con- 
versation. When  the  girl  appealed  to  the 
latter  to  verify  some  statement  of  fact,  Whit- 
taker  remained  silent.  Even  when  it  was 
necessary  to  refer  directly  to  Armathwaite, 
he  did  so  obliquely. 

" You've  spun  a  jolly  queer  yarn,  Meg,"  he 
said,  after  she  had  retailed,  for  the  second 
time,  and  with  evident  gusto,  the  discomfiture 
of  James  Walker.  "I  think  it  would  be  a 
good  notion  now  if  we  found  out  what  really 
did  occur  in  this  house  after  you  and  your 
mother  went  away.  Didn't  you  say  there  was 
a  newspaper  report  of  the  inquest  handy!" 

"  Betty  Jackson  promised  to  give  it  to  Mr. 
Armathwaite." 

"Well,  couldn't  we  see  it!" 

1  'I'll  go  and  ask  her  for  it,"  said  Arma- 
thwaite, and  he  left  the  room. 

"Tell  you  what,  Meg,"  drawled  Percy,  pour- 
ing out  a  third  cup  of  tea,  "you're  making  a 
howling  mistake  in  letting  that  chap  share 
your  confidence." 

Marguerite's  eyebrows  curved  in  astonish- 
ment. The  very  suddenness  of  this  attack 
was  disconcerting. 


A  FAINT-HEARTED  ALLY         141 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  cried. 

"It's  not  always  easy  to  give  reasons  for 
one's  ideas.  I  was  just  thinking  that  he's  a 
complete  stranger,  and  here  he  is  acting  as 
though  he  was  the  head  of  the  family.  Who 
is  he?  Where  does  he  come  from?  Why  is 
he  poking  his  nose  into  your  private  affairs? 
By  gad,  I  can  see  Edie  sniffing  at  him  if  she 
was  here  in  my  place!" 

Some  gleam  of  intuition  warned  the  girl 
that  she  must  repress  the  sharp  retort  on 
her  lips. 

"Then  I  am  glad  your  sister  is  not  here," 
she  said  quietly.  "You  must  have  woefully 
misunderstood  every  word  I  have  uttered  if 
you  imagine  that  Mr.  Armathwaite  has  done 
anything  but  strive  manfully  to  keep  a  sor- 
did story  from  my  ken.  He  tried  to  make 
me  go  away  this  morning,  and  again  this 
afternoon.  He  would  certainly  send  me  off 
early  to-morrow  if  he  were  not  afraid  of  some 
terrible  thing  happening.  Please  don't  begin 
by  being  prejudiced  against  Mr.  Armathwaite. 
I  have  enough  trouble  staring  me  in  the  face 
to  dispense  with  absurd  suspicions  of  one  who 
has  been  a  very  real  friend." 

Whittaker  seemed  to  weigh  the  point. 
Marguerite's  self-control  probably  angered 
him  as  greatly  as  any  other  of  the  amazing 
things  which  had  come  to  his  knowledge  dur- 


142  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

ing  the  past  hour.  He  had  expected  her  to 
bridle  in  defense  of  the  man  in  whom  she 
reposed  such  trust;  her  very  calmness  was 
unexpected  and  annoying. 

"What  will  your  people  say  when  the 
whole  business  comes  out?"  he  grumbled. 
"Dash  it,  Meg,  I  must  speak  plainly!  It's 
no  joke,  you  know,  your  coming  here  and  be- 
ing alone  in  the  house  with  some  fellow  whom 
you  never  heard  of  before  in  your  life." 

Her  face  paled,  and  her  brown  eyes  had 
a  glint  of  fire  in  them;  but  with  a  splendid 
effort,  she  managed  again  to  frame  words 
other  than  those  eager  to  burst  forth. 

"You  miss  the  real  problem  that  calls  for 
solution,"  she  said  tremulously.  "The  conse- 
quences of  my  actions,  no  matter  how  foolish 
they  may  have  been,  count  for  nothing  in 
comparison  with  the  tragedy  with  which  my 
father's  name  is  bound  up.  Oh,  Percy,  don't 
you  see  what  people  must  think?  A  man 
committed  suicide  in  this  house,  and  every 
one  believed  it  was  my  father.  Yet  you  your- 
self, less  than  an  hour  ago,  brought  me  a 
letter  written  by  my  father  yesterday!  Sup- 
pose I  leave  Elmdale  this  instant — suppose, 
which  is  impossible,  that  the  present  excite- 
ment dies  down — how  can  I  go  through  life 
with  such  a  ghastly  secret  weighing  me  down? 
It  would  drive  me  crazy!" 


A  FAINT-HEARTED  ALLY        143 

Armathwaite's  firm  tread  was  audible  as 
he  crossed  the  hall. 

" Anyhow,  take  my  tip,  and  don't  blurt 
out  everything  you  know  the  minute  you're 
asked,"  muttered  her  counselor,  and  the  door 
opened. 

Armathwaite  drew  a  chair  to  the  window 
and  unfolded  a  frayed  newspaper,  laying 
another  on  his  knees.  To  all  appearance,  he 
had  noted  neither  the  sullen  discontent  in  one 
face  nor  the  white  anguish  in  the  other. 

•'This  is  a  copy  of  the  Nuttonby  Gazette, 
dated  June  22nd,  two  years  ago,"  he  said. 
"It  contains  what  appears  to  be  a  verbatim 
report  of  the  opening  day's  inquest,  which 
seems  to  have  created  a  rare  stir,  judging  by 
the  scare  heads  and  space  allotted  to  it.  Will 
it  distress  you,  Miss  Ogilvey,  if  I  go  through 
it  from  beginning  to  end?" 

"Yes,  it  will  distress  me  very  greatly,  but 
I  don't  see  how  I  can  avoid  hearing 
one  visits  the  dentist  there  is  no  use 
tending   that   having   a   tooth   drawn 
hurt.     Please  read  every  word." 

He  obeyed  without  further  preamble.  It 
was  a  disagreeable  task,  but  he  did  not  flinch 
from  it,  though  well  aware  that  the  gruesome 
details  would  shock  one  of  his  hearers  inex- 
pressibly. Divested  of  the  loud-sounding 
phrases  with  which  a  country  reporter  loves 


tly,  but 
it.     If  \ 
in  pre-   / 
doesn't  / 


144  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

to  clothe  any  incident  of  a  sensational  char- 
acter, the  newspaper  added  nothing  to  the 
facts  already  related  by  Betty  Jackson  and 
Police-constable  Leadbitter,  except  a  letter 
written  and  signed  by  the  deceased  man,  in 
which  he  declared  he  had  taken  his  own  life 
because  he  was  suffering  from  an  incurable 
disease.  It  was  only  when  the  succeeding  is- 
sue of  the  Nuttonby  Gazette  was  scanned,  with 
its  report  of  the  adjourned  inquest,  that  new 
light  was  vouchsafed. 

The  coroner  was  a  Mr.  Hill,  a  local  solicitor ; 
a  Dr.  Scaife,  from  Bellerby,  who  had  con- 
ducted a  post-mortem  examination,  had  excited 
Mr.  Hill's  ire  by  his  excessive  caution  in  de- 
scribing the  cause  of  death. 

( 'I  found  no  symptoms  of  what  is  popularly 
known  as  ' incurable  disease,'  :'  said  the  doc- 
tor. "The  brain,  heart,  liver,  lungs,  and  in- 
ternal organs  generally  were  in  a  fairly  healthy 
state  except  for  ordinary  post-mortem  indica- 
tions. Death  by  hanging  is  usually  capable 
of  clear  diagnosis.  There  is  excessive  fluidity 
of  the  blood,  with  hypersemia  of  the  lungs. 
The  right  side  of  the  heart  is  engorged,  and 
the  left  nearly  empty.  The  mucous  membrane 
of  the  trachea  is  injected,  and  appears  of  a 
cinnabar-red  color.  The  abdominal  veins  are 
congested,  and  apoplexy  of  the  brain  is  pres- 
ent as  a  secondary  symptom.  Contrary  to 


A  FAINT-HEARTED  ALLY         145 

common  belief,  the  eyes  do  not  start  from  the 
head,  and  the  tongue  seldom  protrudes  beyond 
the  teeth.  Indeed,  the  expression  of  the  face 
does  not  differ  from  that  seen  in  other  forms 
of  death,  and,  in  this  connection,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  death,  the  result  of  disease, 
may  present  all  the  signs  of  death  by  suffoca- 
tion. The  body  showed  few  of  these  indices." 

"Would  you  mind  telling  us  what  you  are 
driving  at,  Dr.  Scaife?"  the  coroner  had  asked. 
"Here  is  a  man  found  hanging  in  his  house, 
leaving  a  letter  addressed  to  me  in  which  he 
states  his  intention  beyond  a  doubt.  Do  you 
wish  the  jury  to  believe  that  his  death  may 
nevertheless  have  been  a  natural  one?" 

"No,"  was  the  reply.  "I  do  not  say  that. 
But  the  absence  of  certain  symptoms,  and  the 
presence  of  others,  make  it  essential  that  I 
should  state  that  Mr.  Garth  might  just  as 
well  have  died  from  apoplexy  as  from  strangu- 
lation." 

"Are  we  to  understand  that  Mr.  Garth  may 
have  died  from  apoplexy  and  afterwards 
hanged  himself?" 

"That  would  be  nonsense,"  said  Dr.  Scaife. 

"I  agree,  most  emphatically.  Do  you  refuse 
to  certify  as  to  the  cause  of  death!" 

"No.  I  am  merely  fulfilling  a  duty  by 
pointing  out  what  I  regard  as  discrepancies 
in  the  post-mortem  conditions.  I  looked  for 


146  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

signs  of  organic  disease.     There  was  none." 

Evidently,  coroner  and  doctor  were  inclined 
to  be  testy  with  each  other,  and  the  newspaper 
report  left  the  impression  that  Dr.  Scaife  was 
a  hair-splitter.  In  the  result,  a  verdict  of 
"Suicide,  while  in  a  state  of  unsound  mind," 
was  returned. 

There  followed  a  description  of  the  inter- 
ment in  Bellerby  churchyard  of  "the  mortal 
remains  of  Stephen  Garth,"  when  the  vicar 
read  a  "modified  form  of  the  burial  service," 
while  the  "continued  absence  from  Elmdale 
of  the  dead  man's  wife  and  daughter,"  was 
referred  to  without  other  comment. 

When  Armathwaite  laid  aside  the  second 
newspaper,  no  one  spoke  for  a  minute  or  more. 
Percy  Whittaker  was  seemingly  interested  in 
the  effort  of  a  fly  to  extract  nutriment  from 
a  lump  of  sugar;  Marguerite  Ogilvey  was 
staring  at  vacancy  with  wide-open,  terror- 
laden  eyes;  Armathwaite  himself  appeared  to 
be  turning  over  the  baffling  problem  in  his 
mind. 

At  last,  Whittaker  stirred  uneasily. 

"What  time  does  the  post  leave  here,  Meg!" 
he  inquired.  "I  want  to  send  Edie  a  line. 
She'll  have  a  bad  fit  of  the  jumps  if  she  hears 
from  neither  of  us  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  VHI 


THE  rather  bizarre  question  startled  the 
girl  out  of  her  melancholy  thoughts.  She 
looked  at  Whittaker  as  though  she  had  com- 
pletely forgotten  his  presence. 

"The  post,"  she  repeated.  "There  is  no 
post  out  of  Elmdale  this  evening.  Higgles 
passed  through  the  village  hours  ago." 

"Higgles?" 

"He's  the  postman.  We  either  see  him  our- 
selves or  leave  letters  at  Thompson's,  the 
grocer's,  before  four  o'clock." 

"Then  neither  letter  nor  telegram  can  be 
dispatched  to-night!" 

"Yes.  If  you  care  to  pay  mileage  to  Bel- 
lerby,  and  the  message  is  handed  in  before 
eight,  Thompson  will  send  a  boy  with  a  tele- 
gram." 

Whittaker  glanced  at  his  watch.  The  hour 
was  half-past  six. 

"How  far  is  Bellerby?"  he  said.  "Tell  me 
in  terms  of  the  clock,  not  in  miles,  which,  as 
a  method  of  reckoning  in  Yorkshire,  conveys 
a  sense  of  infinity." 

147 


/ 


148  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"A  boy  can  bicycle  there  in  half  an  hour." 

"Then,  footsore  as  I  am,  I  shall  hie  me 
to  Thompson's." 

"Why  not  write  your  telegram  here,  and 
Betty  will  take  it." 

"No,  thanks.  I'll  see  to  it  myself.  Then, 
if  it  doesn't  reach  Edie  to-night,  I  can  place 
a  hand  on  my  heart  and  vow  I  did  all  man 
could  do,  and  failed." 

"You  are  not  forgetting  that  I  have  writ- 
ten to  her!" 

"No.  Don't  you  see?  A  letter  from  you 
complicates  matters  even  more.  If  she  hears 
from  Meg,  and  not.  a  word  is  said  about  Percy, 
she'll  wonder  what  has  become  of  little  me. 
I  suppose  Thompson's  shop  is  not  'a  nice 
bit'  removed  from  the  village?" 

"It  is  opposite  the  Fox  and  Hounds  Inn. 
You  can  walk  there  in  two  minutes." 

Armathwaite,  who  had  risen,  and  was  star- 
ing through  the  window  during  this  brief 
colloquy,  was  struck  by  the  quietly  pertina- 
cious note  in  Whittaker's  voice.  Moreover, 
he  was  listening  carefully,  since  there  was 
some  faint  trace  of  an  accent  which  had  a 
familiar  sound  in  his  ears.  He  waited,  until 
the  younger  man  had  gone  out  and  was  walk- 
ing gingerly  down  the  garden  path;  progress 
downhill  must  have  been  a  torture  to  sore 
toes,  yet  Whitta'ker  was  strangely  determined 


WH1TTAKER  A  MAN  OF  ACTION  149 

to  send  that  unnecessary  telegram  in  person 
—unnecessary,  that  is,  in  view  of  the  fact 
that  a  message  dispatched  next  morning 
would  have  served  the  same  purpose.  Why? 
Armathwaite  found  that  life  bristled  with  in- 
terrogatives  just  then. 

Turning  to  look  at  Marguerite,  he  said: 

"Your  friend  doesn't  like  me." 

She  did  not  attempt  to  fence  with  him. 
Somehow,  when  her  eyes  met  his,  a  new 
strength  leaped  in  her  heart. 

"Percy  flatters  himself  on  the  ease  with 
which  he  follows  the  line  of  least  resistance, 
but  in  reality  he  is  a  somewhat  shallow  and 
transparent  person,"  she  answered. 

"There  is  a  transparency  of  shallowness 
which  occasionally  hides  a  certain  depth  of 
mud. ' ' 

"Oh,  he  means  no  harm !  His  widowed  sister, 
Mrs.  Suarez,  is  a  great  stickler  for  the  con- 
ventions, and  she  has  infected  him  with  her 
notions.  She  is  the  'Edie'  he  speaks  of.  My 
chum  is  a  younger  sister,  Christabel." 

"Suarez!    An  unusual  name  in  England." 

"She  married  a  Calcutta  merchant.  The 
Whittakers  are  Anglo-Indians." 

Armathwaite  smiled.  He  knew  now  whence 
came  that  slightly  sibilant  accent.  Whittaker 
was  a  blonde  Eurasian,  a  species  so  rare  that 
it  was  not  surprising  that  even  a  close  obser- 


ver  should  have  failed  to  detect  the  "touch 
of  the  tar-brush"  at  first  sight.     From  that 
instant  Armathwaite   regarded  him  from   an 
entirely  new  view-point.    The  Briton  who  has  ] 
lived  many  years  in  the  East  holds  firmly  to   ' 
the  dogmatic  principle  that  in  the  blend  of  two   ( 
races  the  Eurasian  is  dowered  with  the  vir- 
tues    of    neither     and     the     vices     of     both.  ) 
More  than  ever  did  he  regret  the  qualms  of 
the     conventional     Mrs.     Suarez    which    had 
brought    Percy    Whittaker    to    Elmdale    that 
day. 

"I'm  sorry  he  deems  it  advisable  to  distrust 
me, ' '  he  went  on.  * '  How  long  have  you  been 
acquainted  with  the  family?" 

"Ever  since  I  went  to  school  with  Christabel 
at  Brighton.  She  often  came  here  during  the 
summer  holidays,'  and  I  used  to  visit  her  at 
Whitsuntide." 

"They  are  aware  of  your  change  of  name, 
of  course?" 

"Yes.     How  could  it  be  otherwise?" 

"A  thoughtless  question  indeed.  The  no- 
tion was  flitting  through  my  mind  that  no  one 
in  Elmdale  knew  of  it,  or  the  fact  was  bound 
to  have  been  made  public  at  the  inquest.  The 
doctor  who  gave  evidence — was  he  your  reg- 
ular medical  attendant?" 

"He  was  an  intimate  friend  rather  than  a 
doctor.  He  knew  dad  so  well  that  he  would 


WHITTAKER  A  MAN  OF  ACTION  151 

scout  the  idea  of  suicide.  Perhaps  that  ex- 
plains his  hesitating  statement  to  the  coroner. 
Oh,  Mr.  Armathwaite,  what  does  it  all  mean? 
Was  ever  girl  plunged  into  such  a  sea  of 
trouble?  What  am  I  to  do?" 

"Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  send  for 
your  mother?" 

"If  she  were  here  now  she  could  only  say 
what  I  am  saying — that  my  father  is  alive 
and  in  the  best  of  health." 

"Forgive  me  if  I  seem  to  be  cross-examin- 
ing you,  but  I  am  groping  blindly  towards 
some  theory  which  shall  satisfy  two  conditions 
wholly  irreconcilable  at  present.  Your  mother 
and  you  went  away  from  Elmdale,  leaving 
your  father  here.  Do  you  remember  the  exact 
reason  given  for  your  departure?" 

"One  day  dad  asked  me  to  read  some  pas- 
sages from  a  French  treatise  on  Basque  songs. 
It  was  rather  technical  stuff,  and  I  stumbled 
over  the  translation,  so  he  said  I  was  losing 
my  French,  and  that  mother  and  I  should  go 
to  Paris  for  a  few  weeks,  and  do  a  round 
of  theaters.  Of  cdurse,  I  was  delighted — 
what  girl  wouldn't  be?  I  couldn't  pack 
quickly  enough.  When  Paris  emptied,  to- 
wards the  end  of  June,  we  went  to  Quimper, 
in  Brittany.  And  there  was  another  excuse, 
too.  About  that  time  we  received  news  of  the 
legacy,  and  dad  thought  we  should  get  ac- 


152  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

customed  to  the  change  of  name  more  readily 
in  a  foreign  country." 

1  'How  long  did  you  remain  abroad?" 

"Nearly  three  months.  But  dad  joined  us 
within  a  fortnight  of  our  departure  from 
England.  He  only  remained  at  home  to  finish 
a  book  and  clear  up  the  lawyer's  business 
about  the  money." 

"After  your  return,  what  happened?" 

"We  had  a  month  in  London.  Then  my 
people  took  a  house  in  Cornwall,  near  the 
village  of  Warleggan,  a  place  tucked  in  be- 
neath the  moors,  just  as  Elmdale  is.  Dad 
explained  that  he  wanted  to  study  the  miracle 
plays  at  first  hand,  because  the  remnants  of 
the  language  possessed  by  the  old  inhabitants 
were  more  helpful  than  grammars  and  Oxford 
translations." 

"Your  mother  raised  no  difficulties  about 
the  change  of  residence?" 

"Not  the  least.  In  a  way,  it  was  rather 
agreeable,  both  to  mother  and  me.  Here  we 
saw  very  few  people.  In  Warleggan,  where 
dad's  pen-name,  now  his  own  legally,  gave 
him  some  social  standing,  the  county  families 
called.  We  were  richer,  too,  and  could  afford 
to  entertain,  which  we  never  did  while  in  Elm- 
dale." 

Armathwaite  passed  a  hand  over  his  mouth 
and  chin  in  a  gesture  of  sheer  bewilderment. 


WHITTAKER  A  MAN  OF  ACTION  15S 

"I  still  hold  strongly  to  the  opinion  that  you 
should  send  for  Mrs.  Ogilvey,"  he  said,  striv- 
ing to  cloak  the  motive  underlying  the  sugges- 
tion, since  he  was  assured  now  that  the  half- 
forgotten  tragedy  of  the  Grange  would  speed- 
ily burst  into  a  new  and  sinister  prominence  in 
far-off  Warleggan.  "If  she  were  here  she 
could  direct  my  efforts  to  choke  off  inquirers. 
We  may  be  acting  quite  mistakenly.  She 
knows  everything — I  am  convinced  of  that — 
and  her  appearance  would,  in  itself,  serve  to 
put  matters  on  a  more  normal  basis." 

Marguerite  sprang  to  her  feet.  Her  fine 
eyes  blazed  with  uncontrollable  excitement, 
and  her  voice  held  a  ring  of  defiance. 

"If  my  mother  ought  to  come,  why  not  my 
father?"  she  cried  vehemently.  "I  know 
what  you  are  thinking,  but  dare  not  say.  You 
believe  my  father  is  a  murderer?  Is  that  it? 
You  imagine  that  a  man  who  would  not  wil- 
fully harm  a  fly  is  capable  of  committing  a 
dreadful  crime  and  shielding  himself  under 
the  assumption  that  he  took  his  own  life?" 

"Isn't  that  rather  unjust  of  you?"  said 
Armathwaite. 

"I'm  not  considering  the  justice  or  injustice 
of  my  words  now.  I  am  defending  one  whom 
I  love.  I " 

She  choked,  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands.  Bitterly  aware  that  he  was  only  add- 


154  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

ing  to  her  woes,  he  nerved  himself  for  the  un- 
gracious task. 

"You  are  trying,  like  myself,  to  explain  a 
set  of  extraordinary  circumstances,"  he  said. 
"Woman-like,  you  do  not  scruple  to  place  on 
my  shoulders  the  burden  of  your  own  vague 
suspicions.  I  am  not  so  greatly  concerned  as 
you  seem  to  imagine  because  of  the  possibility 
that  your  father  may  have  killed  someone. 
Unhappily,  I  myself  have  killed  several  men, 
in  fair  fight,  and  in  the  service  of  my  country, 
but  there  is  no  blood-guiltiness  on  my  con- 
science. Before  I  venture  to  describe  any 
man  as  a  murderer,  I  want  to  know  whom  he 
killed,  and  why." 

He  made  this  amazing  statement  with  the 
calm  air  of  a  sportsman  contrasting  the 
"bags"  of  rival  grouse  moors.  Even  in  her 
bitter  distress  the  girl  was  constrained  to 
gaze  at  him  in  wonderment. 

"You  think  that  the  taking  of  human  life 
may  be  justifiable  1 ' '  she  gasped. 

"Naturally.  If  not,  why  do  we  honor  great 
soldiers  with  pensions  and  peerages?" 

"But  that  is  in  warfare,  when  nations  are 
struggling  for  what  they  conceive  to  be  their 
rights. ' ' 

"Sometimes.  The  hardest  tussle  I  was  ever 
engaged  in  dealt  with  no  more  sacred  trust 
than  the  safeguarding  of  half  a  dozen  bul- 


WHITTAKER  A  MAN  OF  ACTION  155 

locks.  Certain  fierce-whiskered  scoundrels 
swore  by  the  Prophet  that  they  would  rieve 
those  cattle,  and  perhaps  a  rifle  or  two,  with 
a  collection  of  women's  ornaments  as  a  side 
line,  while  I  was  equally  resolved  that  the 
lawful  possessors  thereof  should  not  be  har- 
ried. Fifteen  men  died  in  five  minutes  before 
the  matter  was  settled  in  accordance  with  my 
wishes,  and  I  accounted  for  three  of  them.  I 
am  not  boasting  of  the  achievement.  It  was 
a  disagreeable  necessity.  I  tell  you  of  it  now 
merely  to  dissipate  any  notion  you  may  have 
formed  as  to  my  squeamishness  in  looking 
unpleasant  facts  squarely  in  the  face.  A  man 
died  here  two  years  ago,  and  it  would  be 
sheer  folly  to  pretend  that  your  father  knew 
nothing  about  it.  I  believe  you  will  find  that 
the  dead  man  not  only  wore  Mr.  Garth's 
clothes,  but  bore  such  a  close  facial  and  phy- 
sical resemblance  to  him  that  people  who  had 
known  him  half  a  lifetime  were  deceived. 
Then,  there  is  the  letter  read  by  the  coroner. 
I  take  it  for  granted  that  it  was  in  your 
father's  handwriting.  If  these  things  are 
true,  and  common  sense  tells  me  that  we  ought 
to  go  on  that  assumption,  and  on  no  other, 
Mr.  Garth  will  surely  be  called  upon  to  ex- 
plain why  he  endeavored  to  hoodwink  the  au- 
thorities. If  he  comes  here  within  the  next 
few  days  he  will  certainly  be  arrested.  That 


156  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

is  why  I  ask  you  to  send  for  your  mother. 
Everything  points  to  the  belief  that  she  knows 
why  you  left  Elmdale.  I  reject  the  legacy 
theory  in  toto.  By  a  strange  coincidence,  your 
parents  may  have  had  some  money  left  to 
them  by  will  about  that  time.  If  so,  they 
merely  took  advantage  of  the  fortunate  chance 
which  enabled  them  to  explain  the  change  of 
name  without  any  violent  wrenching  of  the 
probabilities.  One  word  more  to  define  my 
own  position  in  this  matter.  I  don't  care 
tuppence  whether  or  not  your  father  killed 
anyone,  or  why.  My  sole  concern  is  for  you. 
I  am  responsible  for  the  whole  wretched 
muddle.  Had  I  not  gratified  an  impish  taste 
for  ferreting  out  mysteries,  I  would  have  al- 
lowed Betty  Jackson  to  smuggle  you  out  of 
the  house  yesterday.  Had  I  obeyed  the  con- 
ventions— those  shackles  on  the  wayward- 
minded  devised  by  generations  of  careful 
mammas — I  would  have  bundled  you  off  last 
night,  or,  if  common  charity  forbade,  sent 
you  away  at  daybreak.  Then,  nothing  would 
have  happened,  except  that  I  should  be  bur- 
dened with  a  secret,  no  new  thing  in  my  life. 
Now,  will  you  send  for  Mrs.  Ogilvey?" 

"No,"  came   the  instant  reply. 

"Despite  Mr.  Percy  Whittaker's  warning, 
will  you  trust  me  so  far  as  to  explain  your 
reason  for  refusing?" 


"What  do  you  mean  by  'Percy  Whittaker's 
warning'?  I  have  told  you  nothing  of  what 
he  said." 

"I  understand  the  type  of  man.  He  could 
no  more  refrain  from  suggesting  that  I  was 
actuated  by  some  underhanded  motive  than 
a  flea-ridden  dog  from  scratching." 

"Please,  don't  pick  a  quarrel  with  Percy 
on  my  account,"  she  pleaded  tearfully. 

"On  your  account  I  shall  suffer  Percy,  even 
though  he  bray  me  in  a  mortar." 

"Well,  then,  I'm — I'm  sorry  if  I  turned  on 
you  a  little  while  ago.  I  apologize.  You  are 
really  the  only  one  I  can  appeal  to  for  help 
at  this  moment.  It  was  just  because  I  felt 
the  truth  of  all  that  you  have  said  that  I 
tried  to  force  the  same  confession  from  you. 
Heaven  help  me,  I  am  compelled  to  believe 
that  my'  poor  father  got  himself  involved  in 
some  dreadful  crime.  It  will  all  come  out 
now.  If  the  police  get  hold  of  him  he  will  be 
put  in  prison.  I  must  save  him.  Never  did 
daughter  love  a  father  more  than  I  love  mine, 
and  I'll  sacrifice  everything,  reputation,  hap- 
piness, even  life  itself,  for  his  sake.  And 
that  is  why  my  mother  must  not  come  here. 
I  shall  remain,  and  she  will  stay  in  Cornwall 
so  as  to  safeguard  him,  if  need  be.  You  have 
no  idea  what  an  innocent  he  is  in  worldly  af- 
fairs. If — if  he  had  to  escape — to  get  away 


158  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

from  some  foreign  country — he  could  never 
manage  it  without  her  assistance.  Don't  you 
see,  the  decision  must  rest  with  me?  I'll 
write  to  mother,  and  tell  her  what  we  know, 
and  arrange  some  plan  with  her  whereby 
dad  will  be  able  to  avoid  arrest.  Oh,  I  can't 
make  things  clearer,  but  you  are  so  kind  and 
nice  that  you  will  understand — and  help! 
Say  you'll  help,  and  I'll  not  cry  any  more— 
but  be  brave — and  confident!" 

While  uttering  that  broken  appeal  she  had 
come  near,  and  a  timid  hand  now  rested  on 
his  shoulder.  He  looked  down  into  her  swim- 
ming eyes  and  saw  there  the  perfect  faith 
of  a  child.  Never  was  man  more  tempted  to 
take  a  woman  in  his  arms  and  kiss  away  her 
fears  than  was  Robert  Armathwaite  at  that 
instant,  but  he  recoiled  from  the  notion  as 
though  a  snake  had  reared  its  basilisk  head 
from  out  of  a  bed  of  sweet-scented  flowers. 
Nevertheless,  he  placed  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders,  and  now  his  left  arm  was  entwined 
with  her  right  arm,  and  they  stood  there  in 
unconsciously  lover-like  pose. 

"I'm  glad  you  said  that,  little  girl,"  he 
said  quietly.  "I  shall  not  disappoint  you,  de- 
pend on  that.  If  we  have  to  break  every 
statute  therein  made  and  provided,  we'll  save 
your  father  from  the  consequences  of  his  own 
blundering  or  wrongdoing.  Now,  leave  every- 


WHITTAKER  A  MAN  OF  ACTION  159 

thing  to  me.  If  strangers,  other  than  the 
police,  ask  you  questions,  refer  them  to  your 
' cousin.'  Remember,  you  know  nothing  and 
can  tell  nothing  as  to  bygone  events,  while 
you  can  say,  if  a  demand  is  made  for  your 
father's  present  address,  that  I  have  advised 
you  not  to  supply  it.  We  must  not  appear 
to  be  actually  defying  the  authorities.  Our 
role  is  one  of  blank  ignorance,  combined  with 
a  pardonable  curiosity  to  discover  what  all 
the  fuss  is  about.  I  must  not  figure  as  a 
hindrance  to  inquiry,  but  merely  as  a  distant 
relative  who  objects  to  your  being  bothered 
by  a  matter  of  which  you,  at  least,  have  no 
knowledge.  Now,  one  thing  more — I  want  to 
see  your  father's  handwriting.  "Will  you  give 
me  the  envelope  which  contained  his  letter?" 

11  Better  still,"  said  Marguerite,  drying  her 
eyes  with  a  scrap  of  lace  which  was  supposed 
to  be  a  pocket-handkerchief,  "I'll  give  you 
the  letter  itself.  You'll  find  it  a  highly  in- 
criminating document. ' ' 

To  reach  the  letter,  which  she  had  tucked 
into  a  waistbelt,  she  had  to  withdraw  the 
other  hand  from  Armathwaite 's  shoulder. 
He  had  no  excuse  to  hold  her  any  longer  in 
that  protecting  way,  and  his  own  hands  fell. 
Suddenly,  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  he 
became  aware  that  Percy  Whittaker  was  gaz- 
ing at  them  through  the  window. 


160  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

His  first  impulse  was  to  tell  Ms  companion 
of  this  covert  espionage,  for  it  was  nothing 
less.  The  two  were  talking  in  the  drawing- 
room,  so  Whittaker  had  purposely  walked 
past  the  porch  in  order  to  look  in  at  them. 
Then  he  decided  that  the  girl  had  worries  in 
plenty  without  embroiling  her  with  one  who 
was  admittedly  an  admirer,  so  he  indulged  in 
a  little  bit  of  acting  on  his  own  account. 

When  she  produced  the  letter,  he  turned  his 
back  on  the  window,  ostensibly  to  obtain  a 
better  light,  and,  at  the  same  time,  drew 
slightly  to  one  side.  The  handwriting  was 
scholarly  but  curiously  legible,  betraying  the 
habit  of  a  dabbler  in  strange  words  who 
printed  rather  than  wrote,  lest  some  playful 
compositor  should  invent  a  new  and  con- 
founding philology. 

The  text  certainly  afforded  a  weird  com- 
mentary on  the  circumstances  which  laid  at 
the  writer's  door  responsibility  for  an  auda- 
cious crime.  It  ran : 

"Mr  DAELING  MEG, — Chester  has  been  a 
bookish  city  since  the  days  of  Julius  Caesar. 
I  have  small  doubt,  if  one  dug  deep  in  its 
foundations,  one  would  come  across  an  orig- 
inal manuscript  in  J.  C.'s  own  fist.  I 
would  impose  a  lighter  task,  however. 
Rummage  one  or  two  old  book-shops,  and 


WHITTAKER  A  MAN  OF  ACTION  161 

get  me  Wentworth  Webster's  'Basque  Le- 
gends,' published  in  London  in  1877  and 
1879.  I  am  hungering  for  it.  Find  it 
quickly,  and  come  home.  I  need  your  sharp 
eyes. — Yours  ever,  Dad." 

Marguerite  watched  Armathwaite 's  face 
while  he  read. 

"Enough  to  hang  anybody,  isn't  it?"  she 
cried,  with  dolorous  effort  to  speak  in  lighter 
vein. 

1 1  May  I  retain  this  1  I  shall  take  good  care  of 
it." 

"Keep  it  as  a  souvenir.  The  identical  book 
is  lying  on  the  library  table." 

Yet  her  mobile  face  clouded  again,  since  it 
could  not  be  denied  that  her  father  knew 
well  that  the  book  was  in  the  Elmdale  house, 
and  was  deliberately  ignoring  its  existence 
there. 

Armathwaite  affected  to  look  through  the 
window. 

"Hullo!"  he  said.  "Whittaker  has  come 
back." 

Whittaker,  standing  sideways,  seemingly 
discovered  them  simultaneously.  He  came  in. 

"Thompson  speaks  a  language  of  his  own," 
he  drawled;  "but  the  dispatch  of  a  boy  on  a 
bicycle,  and  the  resultant  charge  of  three  shil- 
lings, gave  color  to  my  belief  that  he  under- 


162  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

stood  the  meaning  of  'telegram.'  Otherwise, 
his  remarks  were  gibberish." 

" Percy,"  said  Marguerite  gravely,  "Mr. 
Armathwaite  and  I  have  had  a  serious  talk 
while  you  were  out.  He  advised  me  to  send 
for  my  mother,  but,  for  various  reasons,  I 
have  decided  to  fight  this  battle  myself,  with 
your  aid,  and  Mr.  Armathwaite 's,  of  course." 

Whittaker  hesitated  perceptibly  before  he 
spoke  again.  Like  all  neurotics,  he  had  to 
flog  himself  into  decision. 

"I  fully  expected  something  of  the  sort, 
Meg,"  he  said  at  last.  "As  I  don't  approve 
of  the  present  state  of  affairs,  I  took  it  on 
myself  to  ask  Edie  to  wire  Mrs.  Ogilvey,  bid- 
ding her  travel  north  by  the  next  train." 

"You  didn't  dare!"  breathed  the  girl,  whose 
very  lips  whitened  with  consternation. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  dared  all  right!  A  fellow  must 
assert  himself  occasionally,  you  know.  I  can 
see  plainly  that  you  intend  remaining  in  Elm- 
dale  till  the  mystery  you  have  tumbled  into 
is  cleared  up.  In  that  case,  your  mother  is 
the  right  person  to  take  hold  of  the  situation. 
You'll  be  vexed  with  me,  no  doubt,  and  tell 
me  that  I  had  no  business  to  interfere,  but 
I've  thought  this  thing  out,  and  I'm  backing 
my  judgment  against  yours.  In  a  week,  or 
less,  you'll  thank  me.  See  if  you  don't." 

"I   shall  never   forgive   you   while   I  have 


WH1TTAKER  A  MAN  OF  ACTION  163 

breath  in  my  body,"  she  said,  speaking  with 
a  slow  laboriousness  that  revealed  the  tension 
of  her  feelings  far  more  than  the  mere  words. 

"I  was  sure  you'd  say  that,  and  must  put 
up  with  it  for  the  time  being.  Anyhow,  the 
thing  is  beyond  our  control  now,  and  you 
know  Edie  well  enough  to  guess  that  she'll 
do  as  I  tell  her." 

"What  did  you  tell  her?  I  have  a  right  to 
ask." 

"I  kept  a  copy  of  the  message,"  he  said 
with  seeming  nonchalance.  "I'll  read  it:  'Meg 
greatly  disturbed  by  rumors  concerning  death 
which  occurred  in-  Grange  two  years  ago. 
Telegraph  her  mother  at  once,  and  recommend 
immediate  journey  to  Elmdale.'  Unless  I'm 
greatly  mistaken,  that  will  bring  Mrs.  Ogilvey 
here  without  delay,  especially  when  Edie  adds 
her  own  comments." 

Marguerite  sank  into  a  chair.  Her  sky  had 
fallen.  She  was  too  unnerved  now  to  find 
relief  even  in  tears.  She  continued  to  glower 
at  Whittaker  as  though  he  had  become  some 
fearsome  and  abhorrent  object.  Evidently, 
however,  he  had  steeled  himself  against  some 
such  attitude  on  her  part. 

"Don't  forget  there's  two  to  one  in  this 
argument,  Meg,"  he  said,  sitting  down  and 
producing  a  cigarette.  "Since  Mr.  Armath- 
waite  has  elected  to  be  your  champion  after 


164  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

a  very  brief  acquaintance,  I  must  point  out 
that,  by  your  own  admission,  he  recommended 
the  same  thing.  The  only  difference  is  that 
while  he  talked  I  acted." 

For  a  little  time  there  was  silence.  Whit- 
taker,  brazening  the  thing  out,  lighted  the 
cigarette.  Armathwaite,  unable  to  indulge  the 
impulse  which  suggested  the  one  effective  way 
in  which  this  decadent  half-breed  could  be  re- 
strained from  future  interference,  could  not 
trust  himself  to  speak.  As  for  the  girl,  she 
seemed  to  be  tongue-tied,  but  her  laboring 
breath  gave  eloquent  testimony  of  surcharged 
emotions. 

Finally,  wishing  to  ease  the  strain,  Armath- 
waite glanced  at  his  watch.  The  time  was  a 
few  minutes  after  seven. 

"I'm  going  into  the  village,"  he  said.  "I 
believe  the  dinner  hour  is  7 : 30,  but  I  may  not 
return  till  much  later,  so  you  might  kindly 
tell  Betty  that  I  shall  forage  for  myself  when 
I  come  in." 

"Don't  leave  me,  Bob,"  came  the  despair- 
ing cry.  "I  can't  bear  to  be  left  alone  to- 
night." 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  yielding  instantly  to 
that  heart-felt  appeal.  "I'll  entrust  my  busi- 
ness to  a  deputy.  Look  for  me  in  ten  min- 
utes." 

He  went  out.     The  two  in  the  room  heard 


WHITTAKER  A  MAN  OF  ACTION  165 

the  front  door  close,  and  followed  his  firm 
tread  as  he  strode  to  the  gate.  Then  Margue- 
rite rose,  and  flung  wide  a  window,  and  her 
sorrow-laden  eyes  dwelt  unseeing  on  the  far 
horizon.  She  stood  there,  motionless,  until 
Whittaker  stirred  fretfully. 

"Look  here,  Meg,"  he  began,  but  was 
promptly  stricken  into  silence  again.  Start- 
ing at  the  sound  of  his  voice  as  though  she 
had  heard  a  serpent's  hiss,  the  girl  hurried 
away  without  a  word,  obviously  making  for 
the  solitude  of  her  own  apartment. 

He  lighted  another  cigarette. 

"By  gad!"  he  cackled  to  himself,  appar- 
ently extracting  amusement  from  a  situation 
in  which  the  majority  of  men  would  have 
found  small  cause  for  humor,  "I've  stopped 
those  two  from  billing  and  cooing,  or  my  name 
ain't  Percy.  I  can't  stomach  that  big  chap, 
and  that's  a  fact.  He's  just  the  sort  of  fel- 
low a  girl  might  lose  her  head  over,  but  I've 
put  a  spoke  in  his  wheel  by  bringing  ma  on 
the  scene.  Now  I  must  sit  tight,  and  play 
naughty  little  boy  in  the  corner  till  she  ar- 
rives. After  that,  I'll  make  it  my  business 
to  shunt  pa  into  some  climate  better  suited 
for  his  particular  complaint.  Maybe  I  shan't 
figure  so  badly  in  Meg's  estimation  when  she 
realizes  that  I  did  some  hard  thinking  while 
the  other  johnny  was  making  eyes  at  her. 


166  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

I've  been  looking  for  some  sort  of  an  explo- 
sion in  this  quarter  ever  since  I  read  of  the 
suicide  of  Stephen  Garth  at  the  Grange,  Elm- 
dale.  I  thought  then  there  was  something 
fishy  going  on,  and  I  was  jolly  well  not  mis- 
taken. If  I  hadn't  been  such  a  dashed  fool 
as  to  tramp  over  that  confounded  moor  I'd 
have  been  here  hours  sooner.  But  all's  well 
that  ends  well,  and  this  affair  shan't  slip  out 
of  my  grip  if  I  can  help  it." 

He  had  chosen  a  strange  way  in  which  to 
woo  a  maid,  but  there  is  no  accounting  for 
the  vagaries  of  a  warped  mind,  and  Percy 
Whittaker  was  a  true  degenerate,  one  of  those 
physically  weak  and  mentally  perverted  beings 

"  In  whose  cold  blood  no  spark  of  honor  bides." 

Yet,  even  his  sluggish  pulses  could  be  stirred. 
The  house  which  had  witnessed  strange 
scenes  played  by  stronger  actors  might  be 
trusted  to  deal  sternly  with  this  popinjay. 
He  got  his  first  taste  of  its  quality  before  he 
was  an  hour  older. 


CHAPTER  IX 

SHOWING  THE   REAL,  STRENGTH    OP  AN   ILLUSION 

ARMATHWAITE  went  straight  to  Farmer  Burt's 
house.  He  reasoned  that  Burt  would  be  a 
likely  possessor  of  a  smart  cob,  and  that 
among  the  farm  hands  would  exist  at  least 
one  boy  of  sufficient  intelligence  to  carry 
through  a  simple  commission  without  error. 
He  was  lucky  in  finding  the  farmer  at  home, 
watering  his  stock  before  completing  the  hay- 
making operations.  In  the  bleak  North  the 
agriculturist  wastes  no  time  when  the  weather 
is  propitious.  If  need  be,  Burt  and  his  men 
would  work  till  nearly  midnight,  and  feel  well 
pleased  if  thereby  the  last  rick  of  dry,  sweet- 
smelling  hay  was  covered  with  a  tarpaulin. 

Explanation,  backed  by  ample  payment, 
produced  both  the  boy  and  the  cob.  In  the 
result,  the  following  telegram  was  handed  in 
at  Bellerby  post-office  ten  minutes  before  the 
closing  hour  of  eight: 

"  Postmaster,  York, — Kindly  give  this 
telegram  and  accompanying  ten  pounds  to 
proprietor  of  principal  garage  in  York.  I 

167 


168  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

want  to  hire  powerful  and  reliable  car  with 
experienced  chauffeur  for  one  week  at  least. 
Will  pay  full  rates  on  condition  that  car 
reaches  me  by  noon  to-morrow,  Friday. 
Chauffeur  should  bring  ample  supply  of 
petrol,  as  none  available  here.  I  send  ten 
pounds  as  guarantee  for  order,  and  will 
remit  balance  of  first  week's  charge  in  ac- 
cordance with  instructions  conveyed  by 
chauffeur.  Owner  of  car  will  oblige  by 
telegraphing  acceptance  of  offer,  with  name 
and  address,  early  to-morrow,  paying  port- 
erage, which  will  be  refunded. — AKMATH- 
WAITE,  The  Grange,  Elmdale,  via  Bellerby." 

It  was  a  singular  fact  that  the  really  effec- 
tive means  of  burking  inquiry  by  the  local 
authorities  only  occurred  to  Armathwaite 's 
perplexed  brain  as  he  was  hurrying  back  to 
the  Grange.  When  all  was  said  and  done,  who 
in  Elmdale  actually  knew  that  the  erstwhile 
Stephen  Garth  was  living?  His  daughter  and 
Percy  Whittaker!  He,  Armathwaite,  could 
not  even  be  certain  that  Whittaker  had  ever 
seen  the  man.  Well,  then,  Marguerite  had 
only  to  vow  that  her  earlier  statement  was 
a  sheer  invention,  a  species  of  joke  inspired 
by  the  worst  possible  taste — and  Stephen 
Garth  would  rest  quietly  in  his  grave!  The 
pretense  left  the  mystery  insoluble  as  ever 


REAL  STRENGTH  OF  AN  ILLUSION  169 

where  the  girl  herself  was  concerned,  but  that 
phase  of  the  difficulty  might  be  dealt  with  in 
the  privacy  of  her  own  home.  The  chief  draw- 
back— an  official  inquiry,  with  its  far-reaching 
developments — would  be  surmounted.  The 
Jacksons  might  be  trusted  to  forget  every- 
thing they  had  heard  that  day.  There  re- 
mained James  Walker.  Well,  his  evidence 
was  discredited  at  the  outset.  Armathwaite 
himself  would  be  a  most  convincing  witness 
against  Walker.  It  would  be  easy  to  show 
that  the  pushful  and  amorous  youth  who  had 
bluffed  his  way  into  the  house  in  order  to  in- 
sult a  lady  who  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
him,  and  was  forcibly  ejected  by  the  new 
tenant,  had  fallen  into  a  singular  and  most 
amazing  blunder  when  he  said  that  Margue- 
rite Garth  had  told  him  that  her  father  was 
still  alive. 

The  more  Armathwaite  reviewed  this  pos- 
sible way  out  of  a  really  threatening  situation 
the  more  he  liked  it.  The  surprising  thing  was 
that  he  had  not  thought  of  it  sooner.  Even 
Percy  Whittaker's  confounded  impertinence 
in  telegraphing  to  his  sister  was  robbed  of  its 
sting.  Suppose  the  police  got  wind  of  the 
message,  they  would  make  little  of  it.  How 
did  it  run  f :  ' '  Meg  greatly  disturbed  by  ru- 
mors concerning  death  which  occurred  in 
Grange  two  years  ago."  It  was  awkwardly 


170  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

phrased,  perhaps,  but  was  capable  of  explana- 
tion. She  was  ''disturbed"  by  the  "rumors." 
What  rumors?  Not  that  her  father  was  not 
dead,  but  that  some  other  man  had  died  and 
been  buried  in  his  place !  Who  had  spread  the 
rumors?  Why,  Walker  himself!  Had  he  not 
jeered  at  Marguerite,  and  endeavored  to  pal- 
liate his  offense  by  repeating  the  absurd  tittle- 
tattle  to  the  man  who  had  kicked  him  out  of 
the  house?  Thin  ice,  this;  but  it  might  bear 
if  not  pressed  unduly.  By  rare  luck  Whit- 
taker  had  asked  his  sister  to  communicate 
with  the  girl's  mother.  There  was  no  ref- 
erence to  her  father.  In  effect,  a  friend  of 
long  standing  had  recognized  the  fact  that 
she  had  only  one  parent  left. 

Armathwaite  was  bothered  by  no  scruples 
in  this  matter.  He  had  promised  Marguerite 
Ogilvey  his  help  in  her  efforts  to  safeguard 
the  father  whom  she  held  so  dear,  and  he 
would  fulfill  his  bond  to  the  letter.  Person- 
ally, he  ran  no  risk.  His  acquaintance  with 
Elmdale  and  its  strange  tragedy  was  only  a 
day  old.  As  for  Marguerite  herself,  no  jury 
in  the  land  would  punish  a  daughter  who  lied 
to  protect  her  own  father.  There  remained 
Percy  Whittaker.  What  crooked  line  would 
that  curiously-constituted  youth  take?  He 
could  be  bribed  into  acquiescence;  but  what 
terms  would  he  exact?  Armathwaite  felt  a 


REAL  STRENGTH  OF  AN  ILLUSION  171 

certain  tightening  of  his  lips  when  he  answered 
his  own  question.  At  any  rate,  the  vitally 
important  thing  now  was  to  gain  time,  and 
he  was  confident  that  a  bold  front  would  carry 
a  most  attractive  and  winsome  girl  past  the 
dangers  of  the  morrow. 

Oddly  enough,  as  he  neared  the  Grange, 
the  old  house  itself  seemed  to  smile  at  him  in 
a  friendly  and  encouraging  way.  The  setting 
sun  lent  warmth  to  its  gray  walls  and  glinted 
cheerfully  from  its  windows.  One  pane  of 
glass  in  particular — probably  because  it  had 
a  slightly  convex  surface — a  pane  in  one  of 
the  windows  of  Meg's  bedroom,  winked  con- 
tinuously as  his  body  swayed  with  each  on- 
ward stride.  It  might  have  been  saying: 

"Leave  it  to  me!  Leave  it  to  me!  I've 
watched  ten  generations  of  men  and  women 
passing  beneath,  and  I  know  how  gently  Time 
deals  with  humanity's  sorrows." 

The  idea  so  obsessed  him  that  he  loitered 
inside  the  gate,  and  glanced  up  to  see  if,  by 
any  chance,  Marguerite  might  be  in  the  room 
and  have  noticed  his  approach.  Yes,  she  was 
there!  She  threw  open  the  window,  which, 
in  view  of  what  happened  within  the  next  half- 
minute,  moved  upward  with  a  noiseless  ease 
that  was  absolutely  uncanny. 

"Dinner  is  just  coming  in,"  she  said. 
"Betty  has  put  some  hot  water  in  your  bed- 


172  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

room,  the  one  opposite  this,  and  you  must 
hurry  over  your  toilet." 

"I  also  have  good  news,"  he  answered 
gayly.  "I've  hit  on  a  plan  that  should  rout 
the  enemy." 

" Which  enemy?"  she  asked  in  a  lower  tone. 

"The  powers  that  be,"  and  he  waved  a 
comprehensive  arm  to  indicate  the  world  at 
large.  "By  putting  back  the  clock  twenty- 
four  hours  we  defeat  every  sort  of  combina- 
tion that  can  take  the  field  against  us.  I'll 
propound  the  scheme  at  dinner,  so  prepare  to 
feast  with  a  light  heart." 

With  expressive  pantomime  she  inquired  if 
Percy  Whittaker  was  to  share  their  council, 
and  he  replied  with  a  nod.  He  was  loth  to  de- 
prive his  eyes  of  the  perfect  picture  she  of- 
fered there,  with  her  elbows  resting  on  the 
window-sill,  her  head  and  shoulders  set,  as 
it  were,  in  a  frame,  and  the  last  rays  of  the 
sun  brightening  her  pallid  cheeks  and  weav- 
ing strands  of  spun  gold  in  her  brown  hair. 
But  the  summons  from  the  kitchen  was  not 
to  be  flouted,  so  he  made  for  the  door. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  hall  was 
lighted  directly  from  the  upper  part  of  the 
front  door,  and  the  stained-glass  window  on 
the  half-landing  of  the  stairs.  Indirectly,  its 
gloom  could  be  dissipated  by  any  one  of  three 
interior  doors,  but  all  of  them  happened  to 


REAL  STRENGTH  OF  AN  ILLUSION  173 

be  closed.  Thus,  when  Armathwaite  's  tall 
figure  appeared  in  the  porch,  it  effectually 
withdrew  the  light  gained  through  the  glass 
in  the  front  door  until  the  door  itself  was 
opened. 

He  had  his  hand  on  the  handle  when  he 
heard  a  most  weird  groaning  and  shrieking 
caused  by  the  closing  of  the  bedroom  window. 
Practically  in  the  same  instant  he  caught  an 
affrighted  yell  from  inside  the  house,  and  some 
one  shot  violently  down  the  stairs  and  into  the 
hall,  falling  in  a  huddled  heap  on  the  floor. 
Armathwaite  had  the  door  open  in  a  second, 
and  found  Percy  Whittaker  lying  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  while  Marguerite's  voice  came 
in  a  cry  of  alarm: 

"What  is  it?  What  has  happened?  Percy, 
is  that  you?" 

By  that  time  Armathwaite  had  partly  raised 
the  fallen  man,  who  did  not  seem  to  have 
an  atom  of  breath  left  in  his  body.  Mrs. 
Jackson,  too,  came  from  the  kitchen  with 
a  lamp,  and  Marguerite  appeared  on  the 
stairs. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  cried  again. 
"Did  Percy  fall?  Is  he  hurt?" 

"I  imagine  he  missed  his  footing  on  the 
stairs,"  said  Armathwaite  coolly.  "At  any 
rate,  he  struck  the  floor  with  such  a  thump 
that  he  is  winded.  .  .  .  Now,  old  chap,  pull 


174  THE  HOUSE  WOUND  THE  CORNER 

yourself  together!  Can't  you  stand!  Shall 
I  carry  you  to  a  chair?" 

In  a  dazed  way  Whittaker  endeavored  to 
stand  upright.  At  once  he  uttered  a  croak 
of  agony,  and  would  have  collapsed  once  more 
if  Armathwaite  were  not  supporting  him. 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  the  other,  "I'm 
afraid  he  is  more  damaged  than  I  thought. 
Show  a  light  here,  Mrs.  Jackson.  N©w,  go 
ahead,  and  open  the  door  of  Mr.  Whittaker 's 
room  if  it  is  closed.  I'll  take  him  there,  and 
find  out  the  extent  of  the  mischief." 

Even  in  the  confusion  of  the  moment  Arma- 
thwaite noticed  that  Percy  was  gazing  at  the 
wall  near  the  clock  with  the  distended  eyes 
of  fear.  Mrs.  Jackson  saw  it,  too,  and  with 
the  outspokenness  of  her  class,  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  put  her  thought  into  words. 

"Eh,  my,  but  t'  poor  young  man '11  hae  seen 
t'  ghost,"  she  cried. 

"I — I  saw  some  spook,"  muttered  Whit- 
taker weakly.  "Where  is  it?  What  was  it? 
I'm  sure  I  saw  something." 

"Go  upstairs,"  Armathwaite  commanded 
Mrs.  Jackson  angrily.  "Or,  better  still,  hand 
the  lamp  to  Miss  Meg,  and  stop  talking  non- 
sense." 

Quickly  he  had  Whittaker  stretched  on  a 
bed,  and  soon  ascertained  that  the  trouble, 
whatever  it  might  be,  lay  in  the  right  ankle. 


REAL  STRENGTH  OF  AN  ILLUSION  175 

The  sufferer  had  taken  off  the  patent-leather 
boots,  and  was  wearing  felt  slippers,  so  exam- 
ination of  his  injury  was  no  difficult  mat- 
ter. Armathwaite,  evidently  no  novice  in 
such  emergencies,  shook  his  head  when  Whit- 
taker  flinched  or  cried  aloud  in  pain  if  a  ten- 
don was  touched  or  an  effort  made  to  twist 
the  foot  slightly. 

1  'Put  that  lamp  down,"  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Jackson,  "and  bring  me  a  basin  of  cold  water. 
You,  Meg,"  he  went  on,  "might  tear  a  sheet, 
or  any  piece  of  strong  linen,  into  strips  about 
three  inches  wide.  Be  as  quick  as  you  can, 
please !  Every  minute  saved  now  may  mean 
a  week  afterwards." 

"What's  gone  wrong?"  whispered  Whit- 
taker,  when  the  women  had  flown.  "Is  it  a 
smash!" 

"No,  thank  goodness!  You'd  not  get  over  a 
broken  ankle  in  a  hurry.  But  you've  col- 
lected a  very  nasty  sprain,  and  possibly  la- 
cerated some  ligaments  as  well.  Fortunately, 
I  know  what  to  do  before  the  joint  has  time 
to  swell.  How  in  the  world  did  you  contrive 
to  pitch  downstairs!  The  steps  are  broad, 
and  the  grade  less  than  the  average." 

"I— I  didn't  fall.  That  is,  I  mean  I  didn't 
trip  or  stumble  over  anything.  I  saw  that 
thing — the  ghost — and  simply  crumpled  up. 
I  think  I  must  have  nearly  fainted." 


176  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,  what  you  took  for 
a  ghost  was  merely  the  reflection  of  a  painted 
figure  in  a  stained-glass  window." 

"It  was  more  than  that.  I'm  not  quite  a 
fool.  I  never  saw  anything  so  ghastly  in  my 
life.  Didn't  you  say  that  the  man  was  found 
hanging  in  the  hall  near  the  clock?  Well,  I 
saw  him,  I  tell  you.  I  had  turned  the  corner 
of  the  stairs  when  suddenly  the  beastly  thing 
loomed  up  right  in  front  of  my  eyes.  Then 
it  groaned  most  horribly.  I  couldn't  be  mis- 
taken. I  was  thinking  of  nothing  of  the  sort. 
In  fact,  I  was  wondering  whether  Meg  would 
take  a  sensible  view  of  things,  and  agree  that 
I  did  right  in  getting  Edie  to  send  for  her 
mater.  Then  that  cursed  vision  appeared.  If 
I  didn't  see  it  I'm  going  dotty.  Why,  I  felt 
my  hair  rising,  and  I  dropped  as  though  I'd 
been  shot." 

"Of  course,  I  can't  convince  you  now," 
said  Armathwaite,  "but  when  you  are  able  to 
get  about  again  I'll  show  you  just  what  hap- 
pened." 

"Get  about  again!  You  don't  mean  to  say 
I'm  crocked  for  any  length  of  time?" 

"For  a  day  or  two,  at  least,"  came  the 
diplomatic  assurance.  "As  soon  as  I've  tied 
a  rough  bandage  we'll  send  for  a  doctor, 
and  he  will  be  able  to  give  you  a  definite 
opinion. ' ' 


REAL  STRENGTH  OF  AN  ILLUSION  177 

Whittaker  groaned,  and  his  eyelids  closed 
wearily  over  the  gray-green  eyes. 

"Oh,  d n  this  house!'*  he  muttered, 

"It's  bewitched!  Why  the  devil  did  I  ever 
come  here?" 

Armathwaite  bound  the  injured  limb  tightly, 
and  enjoined  on  Whittaker  the  necessity  of 
remaining  prone  till  a  doctor  arrived.  There 
was  little  call  for  any  such  insistence.  The 
unfortunate  Percy  was  suffering  enough  pain 
already  without  adding  to  it  by  movement. 
He  was  persuaded  to  drink  some  milk,  but 
the  mere  raising  of  his  head  to  put  a  glass 
to  his  lips  caused  exquisite  torture.  Then 
Armathwaite  left  him,  meaning  to  appeal  to 
Farmer  Burt  for  further  assistance.  Din- 
ner was  not  to  be  thought  of  until  a  mes- 
senger was  sent  to  Dr.  Scaife,  at  Bellerby,  and 
Meg  and  Mrs.  Jackson  remained  with  Whit- 
taker  in  the  meantime. 

While  descending  the  stairs,  Armathwaite 
gave  special  heed  to  the  shadow  cast  by  the 
window.  It  was  dimly  visible,  but  it  seemed 
almost  unbelievable  that  any  person  of  ord- 
inary intelligence  could  mistake  it  for  a 
ghostly  manifestation.  Suddenly  a  thought 
struck  him,  and  he  summoned  Betty  Jack- 
son. 

"Would  you  mind  walking  to  the  front  door 
and  standing  close  to  it,  so  as  to  block  the 


178  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

light   which    enters    through   the    upper    por- 
tion?" he  said  when  she  came. 

Wondering  what  he  was  driving  at,  she 
obeyed.  Then  the  true  cause  of  Whittaker's 
fright  was  revealed.  The  natural  light 
through  the  plain  glass  of  the  door  nearly 
overcame  the  weaker  rays  which  filtered 
through  the  colored  panes,  but,  as  soon  as 
the  doorway  was  blocked,  the  figure  of  the 
Black  Prince  leaped  into  a  prominence  that 
was  almost  astounding,  even  to  one  who  looked 
for  some  such  development.  The  artist  who 
had  fashioned  the  window  had  followed  the 
canons  of  medieval  art.  The  armored  knight, 
whose  face  gleamed  palely  through  a  raised 
visor,  was  poised  as  though  standing  on  tip- 
toe, and  a  rib  of  the  window  rose  straightly 
above  his  head.  Thus,  the  reflection  on  the 
wall  bore  a  most  striking  resemblance  to  a 
man  hanging  from  the  hook  in  the  china  shelf, 
while  the  sinister  shadow  deepened  markedly 
when  light  was  excluded  from  the  only  other 
source.  The  discovery  of  this  simple  fact 
not  only  explained  the  apparition  which  had 
sent  Percy  Whittaker  headlong  down  the 
stairs,  but  also  showed  why  gaping  rustics 
could  terrify  themselves  at  will.  The  closer 
they  peered  the  more  visible  became  the 
' 'ghost."  Even  Betty  understood  what  was 
happening,  though  she  had  not  heard  the  or- 


REAL  STRENGTH  OF  AN  ILLUSION  179 

chestral  effect  of  the  complaining  window- 
sash. 

"Mercy  on  us!"  she  whispered  in  a  scared 
way.  "Who'd  ever  ha'  thought  of  the  like 
of  that?  You  must  have  bin  comin'  in,  sir, 
the  very  minnit  the  poor  young  gentleman 
put  foot  on  the  second  flight  o'  steps,  an'  that 
thing  just  lepped  at  him." 

"Between  us,  at  any  rate,  we  have  laid  the 
ghost,  Betty,"  said  Armathwaite.  "If  Mr. 
Whittaker  complains  of  increased  pain  while 
I  am  out,  tell  your  mother  or  Miss  Meg  to 
pour  cold  water  over  the  bandage.  That  will 
give  him  relief.  Perhaps,  later,  warm  fomenta- 
tions may  be  required,  but  he  is  all  right  now 
till  the  doctor  sees  him." 

As  he  walked  a  second  time  to  Burt's  farm- 
house, his  mind  dwelt  on  the  singular  coincid- 
ence that  produced  the  shadow  on  the  wall 
about  the  very  anniversary  of  the  suicide — 
or  murder — which  had  vexed  the  peace  of 
Elmdale  two  years  ago.  To  one  who  was 
wont  to  relieve  the  long  nights  of  duty  in  an 
Indian  frontier  station  by  a  good  deal  of 
varied  scientific  reading,  the  mystery  of  the 
vision  in  the  Grange  was  dissipated  as  soon 
as  it  was  understood.  Its  occurrence  was 
possible  only  during  a  few  evenings  before 
and  after  the  summer  solstice,  when  the  sun 
had  traveled  farthest  north  in  the  northern 


180  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

hemisphere.  Its  duration  was  limited  to  ten 
minutes  at  the  utmost,  because  the  sun  sinks 
rapidly  when  nearing  the  horizon,  and  the 
specter's  visits  were  further  curtailed  by 
clouds,  since  strong  sunlight  and  a  clear  sky 
were  indispensable  conditions  to  its  appear- 
ance. 

But,  without  posing  as  an  authority  on  stained 
glass,  Armathwaite  was  convinced  that  the 
window  which  had  produced  this  disturbing 
phenomenon  was  not  modern.  The  elder 
Walker  had  spoken  of  the  Grange  as  a 
"seventeenth-century  dwelling,"  and  there 
was  every  likelihood  that  the  painted  effigy 
of  the  hero  of  Crecy  had  been  installed  by 
the  original  builder,  who  might  have  cherished 
the  belief  that  he  was  a  descendant  of  the 
gallant  Edward  and  the  Fair  Maid  of  Kent. 

If  that  was  so,  the  "ghost"  has  existed, 
not  two  Junes,  but  nearer  three  hundred,  and 
must  have  been  observed  and  commented 
upon  countless  times.  It  was  odd  that  Mar- 
guerite Ogilvey  had  not  mentioned  the  fact 
specifically.  It  was  still  more  odd  that  a  man 
should  have  been  found  hanged  in  that  exact 
spot.  Somehow,  Armathwaite  thrilled  with 
a  sense  of  discovery  when  that  phase  of  the 
problem  dawned  on  him.  He  was  still  turn- 
ing it  over  in  his  thoughts  when  he  reached 
Burt's  farm. 


REAL  STRENGTH  OF  AN  ILLUSION  181 

Here  he  was  again  fortunate.  Some  chance 
had  kept  the  farmer  at  home,  and,  although 
the  latter  had  neither  man  nor  horse  to  spare 
for  a  second  journey  to  Bellerby,  he  dispatched 
a  messenger  to  a  laborer  in  the  village  who 
owned  a  bicycle,  and  was  always  ready  to  ride 
the  six  miles  for  half  a  crown. 

Armathwaite,  of  course,  had  told  Burt  of 
the  accident,  and  the  farmer  shook  his  head 
sapiently  when  he  heard  its  cause. 

"Ay!"  he  said.  "If  I  owned  yon  place 
I'd  rive  that  window  out  by  t'  roots.  It's 
done  a  fair  share  of  mischief  in  its  time — it 
has,  an'  all!" 

"Do  you  mean  that  it  has  been  respon- 
sible for  other  mishaps?"  was  the  natural 
query. 

"Yes,  sir;  three  in  my  time,  an'  I'm  the 
right  side  o'  sixty  yet." 

"What  were  they?" 

"I  don't  remember  t'  first,  because  I  was 
nobbut  a  little  'un,  but  I've  heerd  my  faither 
tell  on  't.  Some  folk  o'  t'  neam  o'  Faulkner 
lived  there  then,  an'  one  o'  their  gells,  who'd 
married  a  man  called  Ogilvey,  I  think,  kem 
yam  (came  home)  to  have  her  first  bairn 
where  her  mother  could  look  after  her.  This 
Mrs.  Ogilvey  must  h'  known  t'  hoos  an'  its 
ways  well  enough,  but  yon  spook  gev  her  a 
bad  start  one  evenin',  for  all  that,  an'  her 


182  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

bairn  was  born  afore  time,  and  she  nearly 
lost  her  life." 

"Are  you  sure  the  name  was  Ogilvey?" 
broke  in  Armathwaite. 

"Oh,  ay!  I  mind  it  well,  because  I've  got 
a  dictionary  in  t'  hoose  by  a  man  o't  same 
neam. ' ' 

"What  became  of  this  Mrs.  Ogilvey  ?" 

"By  gum,  she  cleared  off  as  soon  as  she 
and  t'  youngster  could  get  into  a  carriage, 
an'  never  showed  her  nose  i'  Elmdale  again. 
Owd  Faulkner  took  te  drink  in  his  last  years, 
an'  had  a  notion  that  he  and  the  Black  Prince 
could  finish  a  bottle  of  wine  together.  One 
night  he  was  suppin'  his  share  as  usual  on  t' 
stairs,  an'  he  fell  backwards  over,  an'  bruk 
his  neck.  Then  there  was  poor  Mr.  Garth's 
case,  which  ye '11  hae  heerd  aboot,  mebbe?" 

"Yes,  I've  heard  of  it,"  said  Armathwaite. 
"How  did  Mr.  Garth  come  into  the  property?" 

"I  don't  rightly  ken,  but  folk  said  it  was 
through  yan  (one)  o'  Faulkner's  married 
daughters.  Gosh!  He  might  ha'  bin  yon 
bairn.  But,  no!  his  neam  'ud  be  Ogilvey 
then." 

'  *  Were  you  ever  told  why  the  window  should 
be  erected  in  memory  of  the  Black  Prince?" 

"Ay;  the  story  is  that  the  man  who  dug 
the  first  sod  out  o'  the  foundations  broke 
ground  on  the  fifteenth  o'  June,  an'  some 


REAL  STRENGTH  OF  AN  ILLUSION  183 

larned  owd  codger  said  the  fifteenth  was  t' 
Black  Prince's  birthday." 

"It  seems  to  be  rather  a  slight  excuse  for 
such  an  elaborate  window." 

Burt  looked  around  cautiously,  lest  he 
should  be  overheard. 

''There  was  queer  folk  livin'  when  that 
hoos  was  built,"  he  muttered.  " Happen 
there's  more  'n  one  sort  o'  Black  Prince. 
I'm  thinking  meself  that  mebbe  some  rascal 
of  a  pirate  had  Owd  Nick  in  his  mind  when 
he  planned  yon  article." 

Armathwaite  laughed.  He  was  aware  that 
a  belief  in  witchcraft  still  lingered  in  these 
remote  Yorkshire  dales,  but  he  was  not  pre- 
pared to  find  traces  of  devil-worship  so  far 
afield. 

"It's  a  very  interesting  matter,"  he  said, 
"and,  when  I've  got  the  invalid  off  my  hands, 
I'll  inquire  further  into  the  historical  side 
of  it.  You  see,  the  style  of  coloring  and 
craftsmanship  should  enable  an  expert  to  date 
the  window  within  very  few  years  of  its  actual 
period.  Ah,  here's  your  man!  I  hope  he 
found  the  bicyclist  at  home?" 

Assurance  on  that  head  was  soon  forth- 
coming. Armathwaite  returned  to  the  Grange, 
and,  while  going  to  Whittaker's  room,  he 
glanced  curiously  at  the  wall  near  the  clock. 
Though  a  sufficiency  of  light  still  came  through 


184  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

the  window,  and  the  mellow  colors  in  a  vi- 
gnette border  were  surprisingly  bright,  there 
was  not  the  slightest  semblance  of  an  appari- 
tion in  the  hall. 

But,  such  was  the  force  of  suggestion,  after 
Burt's  hint  at  bygone  practice  of  the  black 
arts  within  those  ancient  walls,  he  found  now 
that  the  face  framed  in  the  open  visor  was 
cadaverous  in  the  extreme,  and  had  a  sinister 
and  repellent  aspect. 

Cynic  though  he  was  in  some  respects,  as 
he  mounted  the  creaking  stairs,  he  wondered. 


CHAPTER  X 

AEMATHWAITE   STATES   A    CASE 

AFTER  endeavoring,  with  no  marked  success, 
to  console  a  fretful  invalid  with  promises  of 
alleviation  of  his  sufferings  by  a  skilled  hand 
—promises  made  with  the  best  of  intent, 
though  doomed  to  disappointment,  because  the 
immediate  use  of  a  tight  bandage  was  pre- 
cisely the  treatment  which  any  doctor  would 
have  recommended — Armathwaite  joined  Mar- 
guerite in  a  belated  meal. 

The  spirit  of  an  infuriated  cook  must  have 
raged  in  Mrs.  Jackson's  breast  when  she  bade 
Betty  "tell  'em  to  mak'  the  best  of  it,  be- 
cause everything  is  spiled."  Nevertheless, 
they  dined  well,  since  Yorkshire  love  of  good 
fare  would  not  permit  a  real  debacle  among 
the  eatables. 

Marguerite  was  utterly  downcast  when 
Armathwaite  informed  her  that  Percy  Whit- 
taker  would  be  lucky  if  he  could  trust  his 
weight  on  the  injured  ankle  within  the  next 
month. 

1  'What  a  load  of  misfortune  I  carried  with 
me  yesterday  over  the  moor!"  she  cried  bit- 

186 


186  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

terly.  "Yet,  how  could  I  foresee  that  an  in- 
terfering woman  like  Edith  Suarez  would  send 
Percy  hotfoot  in  pursuit?" 

"I  have  formed  a  hazy  idea  of  Mrs.  Suarez 
from  various  remarks  dropped  by  her  bro- 
ther and  you,"  said  Armathwaite.  "If  it  is 
correct  in  the  least  particular,  I  am  surprised 
that  she  ever  let  you  leave  Chester  on  such 
an  errand." 

"She  didn't.  I  came  away  without  her 
knowledge ! ' ' 

"Ah!" 

"You  needn't  say  'Ah!'  in  that  disapprov- 
ing way.  Why  shouldn't  I  visit  Elmdale  and 
this  house  if  I  wanted  to?" 

"You  have  quite  failed  to  understand  my 
exclamation.  It  was  an  involuntary  tribute  to 
my  own  powers." 

"If  you  mean  that  Edith  is  a  cat,  I  agree 
with  you.  When  she  hears  that  Percy  has 
fallen  downstairs  and  lamed  himself,  she 
won't  believe  a  word  of  it.  Before  we  know 
where  we  are  she  will  be  here  herself." 

"We  have  five  bedrooms.  The  house  will 
then  be  full,"  he  said  placidly. 

"Five?  Oh!  you  include  my  mother  in 
your  reckoning.  Bob,  don't  you  think  I  ought 
to  telegraph  early  in  the  morning  and  tell  her 
not  to  come?" 

"No.     If   you    adopt   the    scheme    I   have 


ARMATHWAITE  STATES  A  CASE  187 

evolved  for  the  routing  of  all  Walkers  and 
the  like,  the  arrival  of  your  mother  will  be 
the  one  thing  requisite  to  insure  its  complete 
triumph. '  ' 

Then  he  laid  bare  his  project.  Stephen 
Garth  was  dead  and  buried.  Let  him  remain 
so.  Mrs.  Ogilvey  herself  would  be  the  first 
to  approve  of  any  fair  means  which  would 
save  her  husband  from  the  probing  and  pry- 
ing of  the  police.  There  was  always  the 
probability  that  he  was  innocent  of  any  crime. 
Even  if,  from  the  common-sense  point  of 
view,  they  must  assume  that  he  knew  of  the 
ghastly  secret  which  the  house  could  reveal 
sooner  or  later,  it  did  not  necessarily  follow 
that  such  cognizance  was  a  guilty  one.  Thus 
did  Armathwaite  juggle  with  words,  until  his 
hearer  was  convinced  that  he  could  secure 
her  a  respite  from  the  tribulations  of  the 
morrow,  at  least,  though  the  graver  problem 
would  remain  to  vex  the  future. 

They  were  yet  talking  earnestly  when  the 
iron  hasp  of  the  gate  clicked  in  its  socket. 

"Dr.  Scaife!"  cried  Marguerite,  rising  hur- 
riedly. Then  she  bethought  herself.  "I  sup- 
pose it  doesn't  really  matter  now  who  sees 
me,"  she  added,  "and  I  should  so  much  like 
to  meet  him.  He  is  one  of  our  oldest  friends 
in  Yorkshire." 

"Meet  him,  by  all  means;  but  don't  forget 


188  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

your  new  role.  In  fact,  it  would  be  well  if 
you  rehearsed  it  at  once.  The  doctor  will  be 
a  valuable  factor  in  the  undoing  of  Walker." 

The  bell  rang.  Armathwaite  himself  went 
to  the  door.  A  slightly-built,  elderly  man, 
wearing  a  bowler  hat  and  an  overcoat,  was 
standing  there.  In  the  lane  beyond  the  gate 
gleamed  the  lamps  of  a  dog-cart,  and  a  groom 
was  holding  the  horse's  head. 

"I'm  Doctor  Scaife,"  announced  the  new- 
comer. "I'm  told  you  have  had  an  accident 
of  some  sort  here!" 

"Yes,"  said  Armathwaite.  "Come  in,  doc- 
tor! You've  probably  heard  my  name — Arma- 
thwaite. I've  just  rented  this  place  for  the 
summer,  and  a  young  friend  of  mine,  who  ar- 
rived unexpectedly  to-day,  had  the  ill-luck  to 
slip  on  the  stairs  and  sprain  his  ankle.  I've 
done  what  I  could  by  way  of  first-aid.  I  hope 
you  received  my  message  correctly?" 

"About  the  india-rubber  bandage,  do  you 
mean?  Yes,  I've  brought  one.  Lucky  your 
man  caught  me.  I  was  just  starting  for 
another  village;  but  I  can  make  the  call  on 
my  way  home.  Where  is  the  patient?" 

At  that  minute  the  doctor  set  eyes  on  Mar- 
guerite, who  had  come  to  the  door  of  the 
dining-room.  Her  face  was  in  shadow,  because 
the  lamp  on  the  table  was  directly  behind 
her. 


ARMATHWAITE  STATES  A  CASE  189 

''Well,  Uncle  Ferdie,  you  dear  old  thing 
— don't  you  know  me?"  she  cried. 

Dr.  Scaife  was  not  a  man  of  demonstrative 
habit;  but,  for  once  in  his  life,  he  literally 
gasped  with  surprise. 

"Meg!"  he  stammered.  "My  own  little 
Meg!" 

He  grasped  her  hands  in  both  of  his.  A 
dozen  questions  were  hovering  on  his  lips, 
yet  all  he  could  find  to  say  was: 

"Is  Mrs.  Garth  here,  too?" 

"No;  mother  comes  to-morrow,  or  next  day 
at  latest." 

"You  intend  remaining,  I  hope?" 

"Well,  our  movements  are  rather  erratic, 
but  we  shall  have  several  opportunities  of 
meeting  you  before  we  go." 

Betty  appeared,  carrying  a  lamp,  which 
she  set  on  a  bracket  at  the  corner  of  the 
stairs.  Scaife,  still  holding  Meg's  hand,  drew 
her  to  the  light. 

"Come  here!"  he  said.  "Let  me  have  a 
good  look  at  you.  Prettier  than  ever,  'pon 
me  soul!  And  how  is  your  dear  mother? 
Where  have  you  buried  yourself  all  this  time? 
How  long  is  it?  Two  years!  Never  a  line  to 
a  forlorn  uncle,  even  at  Christmas!  I  shan't 
forgive  you  to-morrow,  but  I'm  so  pleased  to 
see  you  to-night  that  at  present  I'll  forget 
your  neglect." 


190  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"Uncle  Ferdie,  it  was  not  my  fault.  Mother 
couldn't  bear  me  to  mention  Elmdale  or  any  of 
its  associations." 

"Ah,  of  course!  of  course!  But  time  is 
the  great  healer.  I'll  pray  for  continued  fine 
weather,  so  that  her  beloved  moor  may  smile 
on  her  arrival.  Well,  well!  I  feel  as  though 
I  had  seen — er — seen  a  fairy.  Mind  you  don't 
vanish  before  I  come  downstairs.  I'm  ready 
now,  Mr.  Armathwaite." 

The  worthy  doctor  had  nearly  blundered, 
but  he  had  executed  what  Americans  call  a 
"side-step"  neatly  enough.  Armathwaite 
smiled  at  the  girl.  She  had  passed  this  initial 
test  with  honors.  A  couple  more  such  expe- 
riences, and  James  Walker  would  be  flouted 
as  a  mischievous  fool  if  he  talked  of  Stephen 
Garth  being  alive. 

As  he  piloted  the  doctor  upstairs,  Armath- 
waite glanced  at  the  window  of  ill-omen.  The 
light  of  the  lamp  had  conquered  the  external 
gloaming.  The  leaded  divisions  of  colored 
glass  were  apparently  of  one  uniform  tint. 
Even  the  somber  figure  in  black  armor  had 
lost  its  predominance. 

Whittaker,  who  was  lying  on  his  back,  tried 
to  turn  when  the  two  men  entered  his  bed- 
room. He  groaned,  and  said  querulously: 

"Couldn't  you  have  got  here  sooner,  doctor? 
I'm  suffering  the  worst  sort  of  agony.  This 


ARMATHWA1TE  STATES  A  CASE   191 

confounded  ankle  of  mine  must  have  been  tied 
up  all  wrong." 

"We'll  soon  put  that  right,"  said  Scaife, 
with  professional  cheerfulness.  "Will  you 
hold  the  lamp,  Mr.  Armathwaite,  while  I  have 
a  look?  What  time  did  the  accident  happen?" 

"Exactly  at  half -past  seven,"  said  Arma- 
thwaite. 

The  doctor  consulted  his  watch. 

"Oh,  come  now,  you're  really  very  for- 
tunate, Mr.  - 

"Whittaker,"  put  in  Armathwaite. 

"Ah,  yes!  Did  you  mention  the  name? 
The  mere  sight  of  Meg  Garth  drove  everything 
else  from  my  mind.  But  it's  only  a  quarter 
to  nine,  Mr.  Whittaker,  and  a  messenger  had 
to  reach  me  at  Bellerby,  three  miles  away. 
Hello,  who  tied  this  bandage?  You,  Mr. 
Armathwaite?  Have  you  had  hospital  train- 
ing?" 

"No;  nothing  beyond  the  rough  and  ready 
ways  of  a  camp.  A  friend  in  the  Indian 
Medical  certainly  taught  me  how  to  adjust  a 
strip  of  lint." 

"You  shouldn't  grumble,  young  man;  you've 
been  looked  after  in  first-class  style,"  said 
the  doctor,  smiling  at  Percy.  "It  may  relieve 
your  mind  if  I  tell  you  that  I  couldn't  have 
done  any  better  myself.  Or,  perhaps,  if  the 
pain  is  very  bad,  you'll  think  that  the  poorest 


192  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

sort  of  consolation.  Fortunately,  Mr.  Armath- 
waite warned  me  as  to  what  had  happened, 
so  IVe  brought  a  lotion  which  will  give  you 
some  relief.  Now,  tell  me  when  I  touch  a  sore 
place.  I  shan't  hurt  you  more  than  is  needed 
to  find  out  exactly  where  the  trouble  lies." 

In  a  few  minutes  Scaife  had  reached  the 
same  conclusion  as  Armathwaite.  Indeed,  he 
gave  the  latter  a  look  which  was  easily 
understandable.  If  it  were  not  for  the  moral 
effect  of  his  presence  on  the  sufferer,  he  need 
not  have  been  summoned  from  Bellerby  that 
night.  He  applied  the  soothing  lotion,  how- 
ever, and  substituted  a  thin,  india-rubber 
strip  for  the  linen  bandage.  Then  he  and 
Armathwaite  assisted  Whittaker  to  undress, 
and  placed  him  in  bed  as  comfortably  as  pos- 
sible. 

"Now,  I  want  to  assure  you  that  the 
prompt  attention  you  received  prevented  a 
very  awkward  swelling,"  said  the  doctor,  be- 
fore taking  his  departure.  "You've  sprained 
that  ankle  rather  badly.  If  it  had  been  allowed 
to  swell  it  would  have  given  you  a  very  nasty 
time.  As  it  is,  if  you're  careful,  you'll  be 
able  to  hobble  about  in  a  fortnight." 

"A  fortnight!"  Whittaker  almost  shrieked. 
"I  can't  lie  here  a  fortnight!" 

"Whether  you  remain  here  or  not,  you'll 
he  lucky  if  you  can  put  that  foot  on  the 


AEMATHWA1TE  STATES  A  CASE  193 

ground  within  that  time.  You  may  be  moved, 
if  you're  carried,  though  I  don't  advise  it." 

1  'But  it's  perfect  rot  to  talk  about  being 
stewed  up  in  this  room  all  that  time,"  pro- 
tested the  other,  his  eyes  gleaming  yellow, 
and  his  fingers  plucking  nervously  at  the  bed- 
clothes. "This  isn't  my  house.  I'm  a  stranger 
here.  Besides,  there  are  things  I  must  do. 
I  have  to  be  up  and  about  to-morrow,  without 
fail." 

Dr.  Scaife  nodded.  He  was  far  too  wise  a 
person  to  argue  with  an  excited  patient. 

"Well,  wait  till  I  examine  you  in  the  morn- 
ing," he  said.  "Sometimes,  injuries  of  the 
sprain  order  yield  very  rapidly  to  treatment. 
Take  this,  and  you'll  have  a  night's  rest,  at 
any  rate." 

He  shook  some  crystals  out  of  a  small 
bottle  into  a  little  water,  and  watched  Whit- 
taker  drinking  the  decoction. 

"Lie  quiet  now,"  he  went  on  soothingly. 
"You'll  soon  be  asleep.  If  that  bandage 
hurts  when  you  wake,  you  must  grin  and  bear 
it.  I'll  be  here  about  ten  o'clock." 

Downstairs,  he  told  Armathwaite  that  he 
had  given  Whittaker  a  stiff  dose  of  bromide. 

"Here's  the  bottle,"  he  said.  "If  he's 
awake  in  half  an  hour's  time,  let  him  have  a 
similar  lot.  Don't  be  afraid.  He  can  stand 
any  amount  of  it." 


194  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

Armathwaite  smiled,  and  Scaife  smiled  back 
at  him.  They  understood,  without  further 
speech,  that  a  youngster  of  pronounced  neu- 
rotic temperament  could  withstand  a  quantity 
of  the  drug  that  would  prove  dangerous  to 
the  average  man. 

"Who  is  he?"  continued  the  doctor.  "I 
haven't  seen  him  here  before.  Is  there 
any  difficulty  about  his  remaining  in  the 
Grange?" 

"He  is  a  friend  of  Meg's,"  explained  Arma- 
thwaite. "She  was  staying  with  his  sister  at 
Chester,  and  we  all  reached  Elmdale  within  a 
few  hours  of  one  another." 

Thus  was  another  pitfall  safely  skirted.  By 
the  time  Dr.  Scaife  was  in  the  dining-room 
and  talking  to  Meg,  he  had  arrived  at  con- 
clusions which  were  perfectly  reasonable  and 
thoroughly  erroneous. 

In  response  to  Armathwaite,  he  promised 
to  bring  a  nurse  in  the  morning,  as  he  was 
confident  that  the  sprain  would  keep  Whit- 
taker  bed-ridden  at  least  a  couple  of  weeks. 
Then  he  took  his  leave. 

"I'll  go  and  sit  with  Percy  a  little  while 
now,"  said  Marguerite.  "Poor  fellow!  What 
a  shame  he  should  have  met  with  this  mishap 
after  his  gallant  walk  to-day.  Perhaps  that  is 
why  he  fell.  His  muscles  may  have  relaxed 
owing  to  over-exertion.  Will  you  ever  forgive 


ARMATHWAITE  STATES  A  CASE  195 

me,  Bob,  for  all  the  worry  I  have  caused 
you?" 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  want  you  to  remind 
me  of  it  so  often  that  we  shall  lose  count 
of  the  number  of  times.  But,  before  you  go 
upstairs,  let  me  warn  you  that  Dr.  Scaife 
gave  our  young  friend  about  twenty  grains 
of  bromide  in  one  gulp.  He  may  be  dozing. 
If  he  is,  don't  wake  him." 

In  a  couple  of  minutes  she  was  back  in  the 
library,  where  Armathwaite  was  seated  with 
a  book  and  a  pipe. 

"He's  asleep,"   she  whispered. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  Now,  come  and  sit 
down.  Are  you  too  tired  to  answer  ques- 
tions?" 

"Try  me." 

"Concerning  your  change  of  name — can 
you  explain  more  definitely  how  it  came 
about?" 

"I  told  you.    It  was  on  account  of  a  legacy." 

"But  from  whom?  Who  was  the  Ogilvey 
who  left  the  money?  A  relative  on  your 
father's  side,  or  your  mother's?" 

"Dad's,  I  understood." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  anyone  named 
Faulkner?" 

"Yes.  Some  people  of  that  name  lived 
here  years  ago.  We  were  distantly  related. 
In  fact,  that  is  how  the  property  came  into 


196  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

dad's  possession.  But  he  never  really  went 
into  details.  One  day  he  said  he  had  made 
a  will,  leaving  me  everything,  subject  to  a 
life  interest  for  mother,  and  that  when  he 
was  dead  a  lawyer  would  tell  me  all  that  I 
ought  to  know.  Then  I  cried  at  the  horrid 
thought  that  he  would  have  to  die  at  all,  and 
he  laughed  at  me,  and  that  was  the  last  I 
ever  heard  of  it.  Why  do  you  ask?" 

"You  remember  that  we  promised  not  to 
hide  anything  from  one  another?" 

"Of  course  I  remember." 

"Well,  then,  I  think  I  have  hit  on  a  sort  of 
a  clew  to  the  Ogilvey  part  of  the  mystery,  at 
any  rate.  By  the  merest  chance,  while  await- 
ing the  return  of  Mr.  Burt's  man  from  the 
village,  our  talk  turned  on  the  history  of  this 
house.  He  spoke  of  the  Faulkners,  and  men- 
tioned the  fact  that  the  eldest  son  of  a  daugh- 
ter of  the  family,  a  Mrs.  Ogilvey,  was  born 
here.  That  would  be  some  fifty  odd  years 
ago.  How  old  is  your  father?" 

"Fifty-four." 

"The  dates  tally,  at  all  events." 

Meg  knitted  her  brows  over  this  cryptic  re- 
mark. 

"But,"  she  said,  "if  you  imply  that  my 
father  may  be  the  son  of  a  Mrs.  Ogilvey,  that 
would  mean  that  his  name  never  was  Garth." 

"Exactly." 


ARMATHWA1TE  STATES  A  CASE  197 

11  Isn't  such  a  guess  rather  improbable?  I 
am  twenty-two,  and  I  was  born  in  this  very 
house,  and  I  lived  here  twenty  years  except 
during  school  terms  at  Brighton  and  in  Brus- 
sels, and  we  were  known  as  Garths  during  all 
that  long  time." 

Armathwaite  blew  a  big  ring  of  smoke  into 
the  air,  and  darted  a  number  of  smaller  rings 
through  it.  The  pattern,  beautifully  distinct 
at  first,  was  soon  caught  in  a  current  from  an 
open  window,  and  eddied  into  shapelessness. 
He  was  thinking  hard,  and  had  acted  uncon- 
sciously, so  it  was  with  a  sense  of  surprise 
that  he  heard  the  girl  laugh  half-heartedly. 

"I've  been  forming  mad  and  outrageous 
theories  until  my  poor  head  aches,"  she  said, 
answering  the  unspoken  question  in  his  eyes. 
"Some  of  them  begin  by  being  just  as  per- 
fectly proportioned  as  your  smoke-rings,  but 
they  fade  away  in  the  next  breath." 

"My  present  theory  is  nebulous  enough," 
he  admitted,  "but  it  is  not  altogether  demol- 
ished yet.  Can  you  endure  a  brief  analysis 
of  my  thoughts?  You  won't  be  afraid,  and 
lie  awake  for  hours'?" 

"No.  I  mean  that  I  want  to  hear  every- 
thing you  wish  to  tell  me." 

"The  man  who  died  here  two  years  ago 
must  have  resembled  your  father  in  no  com- 
mon degree.  Dr.  Scaife  is  not  the  sort  of 


198  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

person  who  makes  a  mistake  in  such  a  vital 
matter  as  the  identification  of  a  dead  body, 
especially  when  the  subject  is  an  old  and 
valued  friend  of  his.  By  the  way,  you  called 
him  uncle,  but  that,  I  take  it,  was  merely  an 
affectionate  mode  of  address  dating  from  your 
childhood?" 

"Yes.  It's  a  Yorkshire  custom  among  in- 
timates." 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  a  real  uncle — 
your  father's  brother— or  of  a  first  cousin 
who  was  very  like  him?" 

"No.  I  have  asked  my  people  about  rel- 
atives but  we  seemed  to  have  none.  Even 
the  Ogilvey  of  the  legacy  was  never  mentioned 
by  either  of  them  until  mother  read  me  a 
letter  from  dad  received  while  we  were  in 
Paris." 

"Exactly.  This  testamentary  Ogilvey  ap- 
peared on  the  scene  soon  after  Stephen  Garth 
died  and  was  buried.  Your  father  was  well 
aware  of  that  occurrence,  because  he  contrived 
it.  He  knew  that  the  man  who  died  was  com- 
ing here,  so  he  sent  your  mother  and  you 
to  Paris  to  get  you  safely  out  of  the  way. 
Now,  don't  begin  to  tremble,  and  frighten 
yourself  into  the  belief  that  I  am  proving 
your  father's  guilt  of  some  dreadful  crime. 
You  yourself  are  convinced  that  he  is  in- 
capable of  any  such  act.  May  I  not  share 


ARMATHWAITE  STATES  A  CASE  199 

your  good  opinion  of  him,  yet  try  to  reach 
some  sort  of  firm  ground  in  a  quagmire 
where  a  false  step  may  prove  disastrous! 
Suppose,  Mr.  Garth,  as  he  was  called  at  that 
time,  merely  got  rid  of  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter until  an  unwelcome  guest  had  been  re- 
ceived and  sent  on  his  way  again,  and  that 
fate,  with  the  crassness  it  can  display  at 
times,  contrived  that  the  visitor  died,  or  was 
killed,  or  committed  suicide,  at  the  most  awk- 
ward moment  it  is  possible  to  conceive,  can 
you  not  imagine  a  hapless,  middle-aged 
scholar  availing  himself  of  the  most  unlikely 
kind  of  expedient  in  order  to  escape  a  scandal! 
Your  father  is  a  student,  a  writer,  almost  a 
recluse,  yet  such  a  man,  driven  suddenly  into 
panic-stricken  use  of  his  wits,  oft-times  de- 
vises ways  and  means  of  humbugging  the 
authorities  which  an  ordinarily  clever  criminal 
would  neither  think  of  nor  dare.  I  am  in- 
sisting on  this  phase  of  the  matter  so  that 
you  and  I  may  concentrate  our  intelligence 
on  the  line  of  inquiry  most  likely  to  yield 
results.  Let  me  tabulate  my  contentions  in 
chronological  sequence : 

A.— Mr.  Garth  received  some  news  which 
led  him  to  disturb  the  peaceful  conditions 
of  life  which  had  obtained  during  twenty 
years.  His  first  care  was  to  send  his  wife 


200  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

and  daughter  to  a  place  far  removed  from 
Elmdale. 

B. — Mrs.  Garth  shared  her  husband's  un- 
easiness, and  agreed  to  fall  in  with  the 
plan  he  had  devised. 

C. — In  order  to  secure  complete  secrecy, 
the  whole  staff  of  servants  was  dismissed, 
practically  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  prob- 
ably paid  liberal  compensation. 

D. — After  a  week  of  this  gradual  oblitera- 
tion of  himself  in  Elmdale,  Mr.  Garth  is 
missed,  with  the  inevitable  outcome  that 
his  dead  body  is  found  hanging  in  the  hall, 
and,  lest  there  should  be  any  doubt  as  to 
his  identity,  a  letter  is  left  for  the  coroner, 
in  which  he  asserts  a  thing,  which  his 
friend,  Dr.  Scaife,  knew  to  be  untrue, 
namely,  that  he  was  suffering  from  incur- 
able disease.  The  statement,  conveyed 
otherwise  than  in  a  letter,  would  have  been 
received  with  skepticism;  it  was  made  with 
the  definite  object  of  giving  a  reason  for  an 
apparent  suicide,  and  leaving  testimony,  in 
his  own  handwriting,  that  the  disfigured 
body  could  be  that  of  no  other  person  than 
Stephen  Garth.  If  a  general  resemblance 
of  the  dead  to  the  living  did  not  suffice— 
if  the  wearing  of  certain  clothes,  and  the 
finding  of  certain  documents  and  trinkets, 


ARMATHWA1TE  STATES  A  CASE  201 
such  as  a  watch  and  chain,  for  instance—*' 

Marguerite,  who  had  been  listening  in- 
tently, could  no  longer  restrain  her  excite- 
ment. 

1  'Yes,"  she  cried,  "that  is  so  correct  that  it 
is  quite  wonderful.  My  father  had  a  half -hunter 
gold  watch  and  a  chain  of  twisted  leather  which 
he  wore  as  long  as  I  can  remember.  Both  had 
gone  when  he  came  to  us  in  Paris;  when  I 
missed  them,  and  asked  what  had  become  of 
them,  he  said  they  were  lost,  much  to  his 
annoyance,  and  he  had  been  obliged  to  buy  a 
new  watch  in  London." 

"There  is  nothing  wonderful  in  treating  a 
watch  and  chain  as  the  first  objects  which  would 
lead  to  a  man's  identification,"  said  Armath- 
waite.  "Now,  don't  let  your  admiration  for 
the  excessive  wisdom  of  the  court  tempt  you  to 
interrupt  again,  because  the  court  has  not  fully 
made  up  its  own  mind  and  is  marshaling  its 
views  aloud  in  order  to  hear  how  they  sound. 
Where  were  we?  Still  in  Section  D,  I  think. 
Well,  granted  that  an  obtuse  policeman  or  a 
perplexed  doctor  refused  to  admit  that  Stephen 
Garth  was  dead,  the  letter  would  clinch  the 
matter.  Indeed,  from  the  report  of  the  inquest, 
we  see  that  it  did  achieve  its  purpose.  The  re- 
maining heads  of  the  argument  may  be  set 
forth  briefly: 


202  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

E. — Stephen  Garth  is  buried  at  Bellerby, 
and  Stephen  Ogilvey  steps  into  new  life  in 
Paris,  wearing  a  literary  cloak  already  pre- 
pared by  many  years  of  patient  industry, 
though  no  one  in  Elmdale  knew  that  its  well- 
known  resident  was  a  famous  writer  on  folk- 
lore. 

F. — After  some  months  of  foreign  travel, 
it  was  deemed  safe  to  return  to  England,  and 
Cornwall  was  chosen  as  a  place  of  residence. 
The  connection  between  rural  Cornwall  and 
rural  Yorkshire  is  almost  as  remote  as  the  in- 
fluence of  Mars  on  the  earth.  Both  belong  to 
the  same  system,  and  there  would  be  trouble 
if  they. became  detached,  but,  otherwise,  they 
move  in  different  orbits ;  they  have  plenty  of 
interests  in  common,  but  no  active  cohesion. 
In  a  word,  Stephen  Ogilvey  ran  little  risk  in 
Cornwall  of  being  recognized  as  Stephen 
Garth. 

G.— Mrs.  Ogilvey,  a  most  estimable  lady, 
and  quite  as  unlikely  as  her  scholar-husband 
to  be  associated  with  a  crime,  was  a  party  to 
all  these  mysterious  proceedings,  and  the 
combined  object  of  husband  and  wife  was  to 
keep  their  daughter  in  ignorance  of  the  facts 
for  a  time,  at  least,  if  not  forever. 


ARMATHWA1TE  STATES  A  CASE  203 

"I  don't  think  I  need  carry  the  demonstra- 
tion any  further  to-night.  You  are  not  to  re- 
tire to  your  room  and  sob  yourself  into  a  state 
of  hysteria  because  your  coming  to  Elmdale 
has  threatened  with  destruction  an  edifice  of 
deceit  built  with  such  care  and  skill.  I  am 
beginning  to  recognize  now  a  fatalistic  element 
in  the  events  of  the  past  twenty-four  hours  that 
suggests  the  steady  march  of  a  Greek  tragedy 
to  its  predestined  end.  But  the  dramatic  art 
has  undergone  many  changes  since  the  days  of 
Euripides.  Let's  see  if  we  cannot  avail  our- 
selves of  modern  methods,  and  keep  the  tragic 
denouement  in  the  place  where  it  has  been  put 
already,  namely,  in  Bellerby  churchyard." 

The  girl  stood  up,  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

"I'm  almost  certain,  Bob,  that  if  you  and 
dad  had  five  minutes'  talk,  there  would  be  an 
end  of  the  mystery,"  she  said. 

1  'And  a  commencement  of  a  long  friendship, 
I  hope,"  he  said. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  Meg's  steady  gaze  falt- 
ered for  the  first  time.  She  almost  ran  out  of 
the  room,  and  Armathwaite  sat  many  minutes 
in  utter  stillness,  looking  through  the  window 
at  the  dark  crest  of  the  moor  silhouetted  against 
a  star-lit  sky.  Then  he  refilled  his  pipe,  and 
picked  up  the  book  he  had  taken  haphazard 
from  the  well-stored  shelves  of  that  curiously 
constituted  person,  Stephen  Ogilvey. 


204  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

It  was  a  solid  tome,  entitled : ' '  Scottish  Crim- 
inal Trials,"  and  lay  side  by  side  with  "The 
Golden  Bough,"  which  Marguerite  had  spoken 
of,  and  a  German  work,  "Geschichte  des  Teu- 
fels."  Turning  over  the  leaves,  he  found  that 
someone  had  marked  a  passage  with  ink.  The 
reference  had  been  noted  many  years  ago,  be- 
cause the  marks  were  faded  and  brown,  but 
the  paragraph  thus  singled  out  had  an  extraor- 
dinary vivid  bearing  on  the  day's  occur- 
rences. 

It  read: 

"  A  statute  of  James  I.,  still  in  force,  enacts 
that  all  persons  invoking  an  evil  spirit,  or 
consulting,  covenanting  with,  entertaining, 
employing,  feeding  or  rewarding  any  evil 
spirit,  shall  be  guilty  of  felony  and  suffer 
death." 

Instantly  there  flitted  before  Armathwaite's 
vision  a  picture  of  the  besotted  Faulkner  offer- 
ing libations  of  wine  to  the  black  figure  scowl- 
ing from  the 'stained-glass  window.  Perhaps 
the  old  toper  had  been  lifting  his  head  in  a  final 
bumper  when  he  fell  backward  down  the  stairs 
and  broke  his  neck. 

Armathwaite  shut  the  book  with  a  bang. 
When  he  went  out,  he  found  that  Betty  had 
forgotten  to  leave  a  candle  in  the  hall,  and  he 


ARMATHWA1TE  STATES  A  CASE  205 

must  either  go  upstairs  in  the  dark  or  carry 
with  him  the  lamp  still  burning  on  its  bracket. 

He  glared  steadily  at  the  dull  outline  of  the 
effigy  in  armor. 

"I'm  not  superstitious,"  he  muttered,  "but 
if  I  could  have  my  own  way  with  you,  my 
beauty,  I'd  smash  you  into  little  bits!" 

Then,  to  show  his  contempt  for  all  ghouls  and 
demons,  he  extinguished  the  lamp,  and  felt  his 
way  by  holding  the  banisters.  It  was  creepy 
work.  Once,  he  was  aware  of  a  curious  contrac- 
tion of  the  skin  at  the  nape  of  his  neck.  He 
turned  in  a  fury,  and  eyed  the  window.  Now 
that  no  light  came  from  the  hall,  some  of  its 
color  was  restored,  and  certain  blue  and  orange 
tints  in  the  border  were  so  perfect  in  tone  that 
he  was  moved  from  resentment  to  admiration. 

"Not  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  art, 
the  frame  is  better  than  the  picture,"  he 
thought.  "Very  well,  you  imp  of  darkness, 
some  day,  and  soon,  I  hope,  we'll  dislodge  you 
and  keep  your  setting." 

He  did  not  ask  himself  whom  he  included  in 
that  pronoun  "we."  There  was  no  need.  The 
mighty  had  fallen  at  last.  He  loved  Marguerite 
Ogilvey,  and  would  marry  her  if  she  would  ac- 
cept him  though  her  parents  had  committed 
all  the  crimes  in  the  calendar,  and  her  ancestors 
were  wizards  and  necromancers  without  excep- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PBEPABATIONS   FOB  BATTLE 

JAMES  WALKEB,  the  younger,  took  thought 
while  his  cob  paced  the  eight  miles  between 
Elmdale  and  Nuttonby.  In  the  result,  he 
changed  his  plans  if  not  his  intent.  Pulling  up 
outside  the  office  of  Holloway  &  Dobb,  he  sig- 
naled a  clerk  who  peered  out  at  him  through  a 
dust-laden  window.  It  is  a  singular  fact  that 
more  dust  gathers  on  the  windows  of  offices  oc- 
cupied by  respectable  country  solicitors  than 
on  the  windows  of  all  other  professional  men 
collectively. 

"  Would  you  mind  asking  Mr.  Dobb  to  come 
and  see  me  for  a  minute  on  important  busi- 
ness?" he  said  when  the  clerk  came  out. 

After  befitting  delay,  Mr.  Dobb  appeared. 
He  was  portly  and  bespectacled,  and  not  in- 
clined to  hurry.  Moreover,  he  did  not  make  a 
practice  of  holding  consultations  with  clients 
in  the  street.  It  needed  a  man  of  county  rank 
to  prefer  such  a  request,  and  Mr.  Dobb,  Com- 
missioner for  Oaths,  and  leading  solicitor  in 
Nuttonby,  was  very  much  astonished  when  he 
heard  that  "young  Walker,  the  auctioneer," 
had  invited  him  to  step  outside. 

200 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  BATTLE    207 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  he  inquired  stiffly,  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway,  and  clearly  resolved  not  to 
budge  another  inch. 

"Sorry  to  trouble  you,  sir,"  said  Walker 
humbly,  "but  I  can't  leave  this  pony  when  so 
near  his  stable.  He'd  take  off  on  his  own  ac- 
count." 

Dobb,  though  slightly  mollified  by  an  emin- 
ently reasonable  explanation,  did  not  offer  to 
cross  the  pavement,  so  Walker,  after  glancing 
up  and  down  the  street  to  make  sure  that  no 
passer-by  could  overhear,  continued  in  a  low 
tone: 

"I've  just  come  from  the  Grange,  Elmdale, 
and  saw  Miss  Meg  Garth  there.  She  passed  a 
remark  which  seemed  to  imply  that  her  father 
is  still  living,  and  got  very  angry  when  I  told 
her  that  he  was  dead  and  buried  two  years 
ago." 

Mr.  Dobb  descended  from  the  doorway 
quickly  enough  then.  Resting  a  fat  hand  on 
the  rail  of  the  dash-board,  he  looked  up  into 
Walker's  red  face.  The  scrutiny  was  not 
friendly.  He  was  sure  that  the  junior  member 
of  the  firm  of  Walker  &  Son  had  been  drinking. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  talking  about?" 
he  said,  sternly. 

Walker  leaned  down,  until  his  ferret  eyes 
peered  closely  into  those  of  the  angry  solicitor. 

"That's  why  I'm  here,  sir,"  he  said,  with 


208  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

the  utmost  deference  of  manner.  "Of  course, 
I'm  aware  that  you  represent  the  family — at 
any  rate,  with  regard  to  the  Elmdale  property 
— and  when  Miss  Meg  herself  said  that  her 
father  was  alive,  and  flew  into  a  rage  when  I 
ventured  to  correct  her,  what  was  I  to  think? 
I  admit  I  was  knocked  all  of  a  heap,  and  may 
have  put  things  rather  bluntly,  but  there  can- 
not be  the  slightest  doubt  as  to  what  she  meant. 
More  than  that,  her  cousin,  Mr.  Eobert  Arma- 
thwaite,  bore  out  her  statement,  and  got  so  mad 
with  me  for  stickin'  to  it  that  Mr.  Garth  had 
committed  suicide,  that  we  almost  came  to 
blows. ' ' 

Walker  was  quite  sober — the  solicitor  had  no 
doubt  on  that  score  now.  Perhaps  vague  mem- 
ories stirred  in  the  shrewd,  legal  mind,  and 
recalled  certain  curious  discrepancies  he  had 
noted  in  events  already  passing  into  the  limbo 
of  forgetfulness.  He,  too,  looked  to  right  and 
left,  lest  some  keen-eared  citizen  should  have 
crept  up  unobserved. 

"Can't  you  take  your  trap  to  the  stable  and 
come  back  here?"  he  asked,  thereby  admitting 
that  Walker's  breach  of  decorum  was  condoned. 

"That's  really  what  I  had  in  mind,  sir.  -I 
was  afraid  you  might  have  left  the  office  before 
I  was  at  liberty,  as  I  have  a  few  matters  to 
attend  to  when  I  reach  our  own  place,  and  I 
didn't  want  to  intrude  by  callin'  at  your  house." 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  BATTLE     209 

Dobb  was  watching  him  critically,  and  was 
evidently  becoming  more  puzzled  each  moment. 

"I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  you  are  bringing 
a  very  serious  charge  against  someone,"  he 
said  at  last. 

"No,  that  I'm  not!"  cried  Walker  emphati- 
cally. "I'm  just  telling  you  the  plain  facts. 
It's  not  my  business  to  bring  charges.  I 
thought,  in  reality,  that  I  was  doing  someone 
a  good  turn  by  comin'  straight  to  you;  but,  if 
you  don't  agree,  Mr.  Dobb— 

"No,  no,  I  didn't  mean  my  remark  in  that 
sense,"  explained  the  solicitor  hastily,  not 
without  a  disagreeable  feeling  that  this  perky 
young  auctioneer  seemed  to  know  exactly  what 
he  was  about.  "I  only  wanted  you  to  under- 
stand that  grave  issues  may  be  bound  up  with 
an  extraordinary  story  of  this  nature.  Look 
here!  I'm  busy  now.  Will  you  be  free  at  six 
o'clock?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  come  to  my  house,  and  we'll  discuss 
matters  fully.  You  say  you  saw  and  spoke  to 
Miss  Meg  herself!" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!  No  mistake.  I've  known  her 
all  my  life." 

"Very  well,  then.  Don't  be  later  than  six. 
I  have  some  people  coming  to  dinner  at  seven." 

Walker  saluted  with  the  switch  he  carried  in- 
stead of  a  whip,  clicked  his  tongue  at  the  cob, 


210  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

and  rattled  away  down  the  High  Street.  Dobb 
looked  after  him  dubiously.  He  had  been 
friendly  with  the  Garths,  and  James  Walker, 
junior,  was  almost  the  last  person  in  Nuttonby 
he  would  have  entrusted  with  any  scandal  or 
secret  which  affected  them.  However,  in 
another  hour,  he  would  endeavor  to  gauge  the 
true  value  of  Walker's  information.  It  might 
be  a  cock  and  bull  yarn,  in  which  case  it  would 
be  a  pleasure  to  sit  on  Walker  heavily.  Mean- 
while, he  would  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity 
to  go  through  certain  papers  in  his  possession, 
and  come  to  the  forthcoming  interview  primed 
with  the  facts. 

Every  Thursday  evening,  at  half-past  five, 
the  proprietor,  editor,  and  manager  of  the  Nut- 
tonby Gazette — a  journalistic  trinity  comprised 
in  one  fussy  little  man  named  Banks — looked 
in  at  Walker  and  Son's  office  for  the  "copy" 
of  the  week's  advertisements,  Mr.  Banks  being 
then  on  his  way  back  to  the  printing-works  after 
tea.  Thus,  he  killed  two  birds  with  one  stone, 
since  the  Walkers  not  only  controlled  a  good 
deal  of  miscellaneous  advertising,  but,  moving 
about  the  countryside  as  they  did  in  the  course 
of  their  business,  often  gave  him  news  para- 
graphs not  otherwise  available. 

Young  Walker,  of  course,  was  prepared  for 
this  visit.  Indeed,  it  loomed  large  in  the  scheme 
he  had  embarked  on.  Hurrying  home,  he 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  BATTLE     211 

changed  into  a  suit  of  clothes  calculated  to  im- 
press Gwendoline  Dobb,  the  solicitor's  only  un- 
married daughter,  if  he  met  her,  and  then 
strolled  to  the  High  Street  sanctum  of  the  firm. 
Not  a  word  did  he  say  to  his  father  as  to  hap- 
penings at  Elmdale.  The  old  man  was 
altogether  too  cautious,  he  thought,  and  would 
assuredly  tell  him  to  shut  his  mouth,  which  was 
the  last  thing  he  meant  to  do  where  Meg  Garth 
and  her  " bounder  of  a  cousin"  were  concerned. 

Thus,  when  Banks  hurried  in,  and  asked  the 
usual  question:  " Anything  fresh,  gentlemen?" 
Walker,  senior,  was  by  no  means  prepared  for 
the  thunderbolt  which  his  son  was  about  to 
launch. 

The  older  man  told  the  journalist  that  Lady 
Hutton  was  giving  a  special  prize  for  honey  at 
the  next  agricultural  show;  that  hay  had  been 
a  bumper  crop  in  the  district ;  and  that  mangel 
wurzel  was  distinctly  falling  out  of  favor,  items 
of  an  interest  to  Nuttonby  readers  that  far  tran- 
scended the  clash  of  empires  in  the  Balkans. 
Banks  was  going,  when  the  son  said  quietly: 

"By  the  way,  you  might  like  to  mention  that 
a  Mr.  Eobert  Armathwaite  a  relative  of  the 
former  occupants,  has  rented  the  Grange, 
Elmdale,  probably  for  a  period  of  twelve 
months." 

"A  relative  of  the  Garths,  Jim — I  didn't 
know  that!"  exclaimed  his  father. 


212  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"It's  right  enough.  Meg  Garth  herself  told 
me." 

' '  Meg  Garth !    Is  she  here  f ' ' 

"She's  at  the  Grange.  Tom  Bland  told  me 
she  was  there,  so,  after  calling  about  those 
cattle  at  Bellerby  to-day,  I  drove  on  to  Elmdale 
and  saw  her." 

"Well,  of  all  the  surprising  things!  Then, 
Mr.  Armathwaite  must  have  known  about  the 
house  when  he  came  in  yesterday?" 

Yesterday !  While  the  three  men  were  gazing 
at  each  other  in  the  Walkers'  office,  Armath- 
waite and  Marguerite  Ogilvey  were  escorting 
Percy  Whittaker  down  the  moor  road,  and  even 
wily  James  Walker,  junior,  little  guessed  what 
a  whirlwind  had  enwrapped  the  new  tenant  of 
the  Grange  since,  as  the  older  Walker  had  put 
it,  "he  came  in  yesterday." 

"No,  I'm  jiggered  if  he  did!"  cried  the 
younger  man  viciously.  "Armathwaite  had 
never  heard  the  name  of  the  place  before  we 
mentioned  it.  I'll  swear  that  in  any  court  of 
law  in  the  land." 

"And  I'd  bear  you  out,"  agreed  his  father. 
"Not  that  I  can  see  any  reason  why  it  should 
come  into  court.  He  paid  up  promptly,  and 
we  have  nothing  to  bother  about  until  the  next 
quarter  is  due." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  was  the  well- 
calculated  answer. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  BATTLE    213 

"What  are  you  driving  at,  Jim?" 

"This.  He's  no  more  Meg  Garth's  cousin 
than  I  am.  There's  some  queer  game  bein' 
played,  and  I'm  a  Dutchman  if  there  isn't  a 
row  about  it.  I  tell  you,  Meg  Garth  is  there, 
alone,  and,  when  I  met  her,  she  calmly  informed 
me  that  her  father  was  alive.  She  nearly 
jumped  down  my  throat  because  I  said  he 
wasn't,  and  that  fellow,  Armathwaite,  took  her 
part.  The  Jacksons,  too,  mother  and  daughter, 
are  mixed  up  in  it  somehow.  If  Stephen  Garth 
is  living,  who  is  the  man  that  was  found  hanged 
in  the  Grange  two  years  ago,  and  why  is  he 
buried  in  Bellerby  churchyard  in  Stephen 
Garth's  name?" 

"I  say,  Jim,  you  should  be  careful  what 
you're  saying." 

Walker,  senior,  was  troubled.  He,  like  Dobb, 
fancied  that  strong  liquor  was  inducing  this 
fantasy,  yet  his  son  seldom  erred  in  that  re- 
spect ;  to-day  his  manner  and  appearance  gave 
no  other  signs  of  intemperance. 

"I'm  tellin'  you  just  what  took  place.  Who 
should  know  Meg  Garth  if  I  didn't?  She  called 
Armathwaite  'Bob,'  and  he  called  her  'Meg,' 
and  they  were  as  thick  as  thieves;  but  they 
left  me  in  no  doubt  as  to  old  Garth  bein'  still 
on  the  map.  In  fact,  we  had  a  regular  row 
about  it." 

"By  Jove!"  cried  Banks,  moistening  his  thin 


214  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

lips  with  his  tongue.  "This  promises  to  be  a 
sensation  with  a  vengeance.  Have  you  told 
the  police!" 

"No.    It's  not  my  business." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  Why,  man,  Ste- 
phen Garth  left  a  letter  for  the 'coroner.  Dr. 
Scaife  was  inclined  to  question  the  cause  of 
death,  but  Mr.  Hill  closed  him  up  like  an  oyster. 
Don't  you  see  what  it  means?  If  Stephen 
Garth  is  living  now,  some  unknown  man  was 
murdered  in  the  Grange.  He  could  neither  have 
killed  himself  nor  died  from  natural  causes, 
since  no  one  in  their  senses  would  have  tried 
to  conceal  his  death  by  letting  it  appear  that 
they  themselves  were  dead." 

Mr.  Banks  expressed  himself  awkwardly,  but 
his  deduction  was  not  at  fault,  and  left  his 
hearers  under  no  doubt  as  to  its  significance. 
His  eyes  glistened.  He  could  see  the  circula- 
tion of  the  Nuttonby  Gazette  rising  by  thou- 
sands during  the  next  few  weeks,  and  at  a  time, 
too,  when  people  were  generally  too  busy  to 
read  newspapers,  or  buy  extra  copies  for  dis- 
patch to  friends  in  other  parts  of  the  country. 
What  a  thrice  happy  chance  that  this  thing 
should  have  come  to  light  on  a  Thursday  even- 
ing !  There  was  nothing  in  it  yet  that  he  dared 
telegraph  to  the  morning  newspapers  in  York 
and  Leeds,  but,  by  skillful  manipulation,  he 
could  make  plenty  of  it  for  his  own  sheet. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  BATTLE    215 

1  'But  it  simply  can't  be  true!"  bleated 
Walker,  senior,  in  a  voice  that  quavered  with 
sheer  distress. 

* '  What  isn  't  true  ? ' '  demanded  his  son.  ' '  You 
don't  doubt  what  I'm  tellin'  you,  do  you?  Ask 
Tom  Bland  if  Meg  Garth  isn't  in  Elmdale.  He 
saw  her,  and  she  nodded  at  him  through  a  win- 
dow, but,  when  he  asked  about  her,  that  pup, 
Armathwaite,  swore  she  wasn't  there,  and  that 
Bland  had  seen  some  other  young  lady.  He 
couldn't  take  that  line  with  me,  because  he 
was  out  when  I  called,  and  Meg  and  I  were 
at  it,  hammer  and  tongs,  when  he  came 
in." 

"At  what,  hammer  and  tongs?"  gasped  his 
father  distractedly. 

"Arguin'  about  old  Garth,  she  sayin'  he  was 
alive  and  well,  and  makin'  out  I  was  lyin'  when 
I  said  he  was  dead." 

" Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  I  must  be  off,"  said 
Banks,  and  the  man  who  was  still  sore  from 
the  grip  of  Armathwaite 's  hands  and  the  thrust 
of  Armathwaite 's  boot  knew  that  the  first 
direct  assault  on  the  stronghold  of  Meg  Garth's 
pride  had  begun. 

"Look  here,  young  fellow,"  said  Walker, 
senior,  recovering  his  wits  with  an  effort, 
"you've  set  in  motion  more  mischief  than  you 
reckon  on.  I  wish  to  goodness  you  hadn't 
blurted  out  everything  before  Banks.  You 


216  TEE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

know  what  he  is.    He'll  make  a  mountain  out 
of  a  molehill." 

"I've  found  no  molehill  at  Elmdale — don't 
you  believe  it,"  came  the  angry  retort.  "Why, 
you  ought  to  have  seen  my  face  when  Meg 
sprang  that  tale  on  me  about  her  father.  I 
just  laughed  at  it.  'Tell  that  to  the  marines,' 
I  said.  By  jing,  it's  no  make-believe,  though. 
Between  you  and  me,  it's  as  clear  as  a  whistle 
that  Stephen  Garth  committed  a  murder,  and 
humbugged  the  whole  countryside  into  thinkin' 
he  had  killed  himself.  Just  throw  your  mind 
back  a  bit,  and  you'll  see  how  the  pieces  of  the 
puzzle  fit.  Mother  and  daughter  get  out  of  the 
way?  servants  are  discharged;  the  man  is 
brought  to  the  house  over  the  moor  from  Ley- 
burn,  just  as  old  Garth  escaped  and  Meg  re- 
turned, for  I'll  swear  she  never  came  through 
Nuttonby  station.  Dr.  Scaife  was  the  only  man 
who  half  guessed  at  the  truth,  but  fussy  Hill 
squelched  him,  all  because  of  the  letter.  Then, 
neither  Holloway  &  Dobb,  nor  ourselves  were 
given  a  free  hand  to  deal  with  the  house.  Mrs. 
Garth  didn't  mean  to  part  with  it— twig?  Of 
course,  Garth  daren't  show  his  nose  there,  but, 
when  he  pegs  out  in  reality,  the  other  two  can 
come  back.  It's  all  plain  as  a  white  gate  when 
you  see  through  it,  and,  when  we  get  hold  of 
Armathwaite 's  connection  with  it,  we'll  know 
every  move  in  the  game.  He's  in  it,  somehow, 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  BATTLE     217 

and  up  to  the  neck,  too.  You  want  to  blame 
me  for  speakin'  before  Banks,  but  you've  for- 
gotten that  Tom  Bland  told  me  this  afternoon 
he  had  seen  Miss  Meg,  and  that  lots  of  people 
knew  I  was  there  later.  If  she  goes  round 
tellin'  folk  her  father  isn't  dead  it  would  soon 
come  out  that  she  and  I  quarreled  about  it. 
Where  would  I  be  then?  When  you're  not  quite 
so  rattled  you'll  admit  that  I  was  bound  to 
speak,  and  that  I've  chosen  just  the  right  way 
to  do  it.  If  the  police  want  me  now  as  a  witness 
they'll  have  to  come  to  me,  and  that's  a  jolly 
sight  better  than  that  I  should  go  to  them.  Do, 
for  goodness'  sake,  give  me  credit  for  a  little 
common  sense!" 

And,  having  an  eye  on  the  clock,  Walker, 
junior,  bounced  out,  apparently  in  high  dud- 
geon; but  really  well  pleased  with  his  own 
Machiavellian  skill.  Indeed,  judged  solely 
from  a  standard  of  evil-doing,  he  had  been  most 
successful.  He  knew  well  that  Banks  would 
go  straight  to  the  local  superintendent  of 
police,  ostensibly  for  further  information,  but 
in  reality  to  carry  the  great  news,  and  set  in 
motion  the  official  mill  which  would  grind  out 
additional  installments.  But  Walker's  master- 
stroke lay  with  Dobb,  who,  in  a  sense,  repre- 
sented Mrs.  Garth  and  her  daughter.  If  Dobb 
could  be  brought  to  appreciate  the  gravity  of 
the  girl's  statements  anent  her  father — and  his 


218  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

reception  of  Walker's  story  showed  that  he 
was  prepared  to  treat  it  seriously — he  would 
either  write  to  Meg,  asking  her  to  visit  Nut- 
tonby,  or  go  himself  to  Elmdale.  In  either 
event,  she  would  be  crushed  into  the  dust.  The 
elderly  and  trustworthy  solicitor's  testimony 
would  carry  weight.  She  could  no  longer  deny 
that  Stephen  Garth  was  reputedly  in  his  grave ; 
she  would  be  faced  with  the  alternative  that 
her  father  was  an  adroit  criminal  of  the  worst 
type,  because  public  opinion  invariably  con- 
demns a  smug  rogue  far  more  heavily  than  the 
ne'er-do-well,  who  seems  to  be  branded  for  the 
gallows  from  birth. 

Yet,  by  operation  of  the  law  that  it  is  the 
unexpected  that  happens,  James  Walker,  the 
second,  was  fated  not  to  retire  for  a  night's 
well-earned  and  much-needed  repose  with  a 
mind  wholly  freed  from  anxiety. 

This  came  about  in  a  peculiar  way.  By  Mrs. 
Garth's  request,  soon  after  her  departure  from 
Elmdale,  the  solicitor  invariably  addressed  her 
as  Mrs.  Ogilvey.  At  last,  the  notion  got  em- 
bedded in  Mr.  Dobb's  mind  that  she  had  un- 
doubtedly quarreled  with  her  husband  long  be- 
fore the  latter  committed  suicide,  and  that  the 
outcome  of  Garth's  death  was  her  speedy  re- 
marriage! From  his  recollection  of  her,  she 
was  certainly  not  the  sort  of  woman  whom  he 
would  credit  with  such  a  callous  proceeding, 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  BATTLE    219 

but  no  man  can  spend  a  lifetime  in  a  lawyer's 
office  without  gaining  an  insight  into  strange 
byways  of  human  nature.  The  profession  ne- 
cessitates a  close  knowledge  of  the  hidden  lives 
and  recondite  actions  of  scores  of  one's  fellow- 
creatures.  Mr.  Dobb  knew  a  vicar  who  had 
committed  bigamy,  and  a  county  magistrate 
who  had  been  a  petty  thief  for  years  before  he 
was  caught.  That  Mrs.  Garth  should  marry 
again  within  a  few  weeks  of  her  husband's 
burial  might  indeed  be  strange,  but  it  sank  into 
a  commonplace  category  in  comparison  with 
other  queer  events  he  could  name. 

Behold,  then,  young  James  arriving  at  The 
Beeches — a  charming  old  house  situated  on  the 
outskirts  of  Nuttonby;  the  "nut,"  as  was  be- 
coming, was  attired  in  a  nut-brown  suit,  black 
shoes,  a  brown  Homburg  hat,  socks  and  tie  to 
match  a  shirt  with  heliotrope  stripes,  and  yel- 
low gloves. 

He  had  passed  in  at  the  gate  in  full  view  of 
a  couple  of  girls  of  his  acquaintance,  and  knew 
that  they  were  glancing  over  a  yew  hedge  when 
the  front  door  opened  and  he  was  admitted. 
He  was  shown  into  a  library,  where  Mr.  Dobb 
awaited  him.  The  lawyer  motioned  him  to  a 
chair. 

"Now,  Mr.  Walker,"  he  said  curtly,  "would 
you  mind  telling  me  exactly  what  happened  at 
Elmdale  this  afternoon!" 


James  sat  down.  Unfortunately,  the  furni- 
ture provided  a  placid  harmony  in  oak,  so  the 
seat  of  the  chair  was  hard,  even  though  it  shone 
with  the  subdued  polish  of  a  hundred  years  of 
careful  use  and  elbow  grease  applied  by  many 
generations  of  vigorous  housemaids. 

"With  your  permission,  sir,  I — er— think  I'd 
better  begin — er — a  little  earlier." 

"What's  the  matter?  Isn't  that  chair  com- 
fortable?" 

Mr.  Dobb  was  clerk  to  the  magistrates  in  the 
Nuttonby  Petty  Sessions;  his  pet  abhorrence 
was  a  fidgety  witness,  and  Walker  was  ob- 
viously ill  at  ease. 

"The  fact  is,  sir,  I'm  a  bit  saddle-galled. 
If  you  don't  mind " 

"Certainly.  Take  that  easy  chair.  What 
occurred  'a  little  earlier'  which  you  think  I 
ought  to  know?" 

Walker  had  been  disagreeably  reminded  of 
Armathwaite,  but  he  kept  a  venomous  tongue 
well  under  control.  He  told  the  lawyer  the 
circumstances  under  which  Armathwaite,  con- 
fessedly a  complete  stranger,  had  entered  into 
the  tenancy  of  the  Grange,  and  described  the 
journey  to  Elmdale,  together  with  the  curious 
behavior  of  the  Jackson  family.  He  was  scru- 
pulously accurate  in  his  account  of  the  cause 
and  extent  of  his  visit  that  day,  even  going  so 
far  as  to  admit  that  there  was  "a  sort  of 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  BATTLE    221 

a  scuffle"  between  Armathwaite  and  him- 
self. 

Mr.  Dobb  listened  in  silence.  At  the  end,  he 
fixed  a  singularly  penetrating  glance  on  the 
narrator. 

1  'In  plain  English,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "this 
man,  Armathwaite,  bundled  you  out  neck  and 
crop?" 

"No,  sir.  Not  exactly  that.  But  I  couldn't 
fight  him  in  Miss  Meg's  presence." 

"Yet,  from  what  you  have  told  me,  I  gather 
that  Mr.  Armathwaite  is  a  gentleman  f ' ' 

"He  has  all  the  airs  of  one,"  said  Walker. 

"And  he  must  have  thought  you  had  be- 
haved discourteously  to  his  cousin  before  he 
would  use  actual  violence  towards  you!" 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,  sir.  Miss  Meg  jumped 
down  my  throat  for  no  reason  whatever.  Of 
course,  Mr.  Armathwaite  hadn't  heard  the 
beginning  of  it,  and  may  have  imagined  I  was 
to  blame,  but  I  wasn't." 

"Perhaps  there  is  an  explanation  that  may 
be  news  to  you.  You  are  not  aware,  I  take  it, 
that  Mrs.  Garth  is  now  Mrs.  Ogilvey?" 

"By  jing!"  cried  Walker,  rather  forgetting 
himself,  "that's  the  name  Tom  Bland  tried  to 
tell  me,  but  he  couldn't  rightly  get  his  tongue 
round  it." 

"Probably.  But  don't  you  see  the  bearing 
this  important  fact  has  on  to-day's  proceedings? 


I  have  reason  to  believe  that  Mrs.  Garth  and 
her  daughter  disagreed  with  Mr.  Garth  before 
his  death.  At  any  rate,  she  seems  to  have 
married  again  within  a  very  short  time,  and 
Miss  Meg  may  have  fancied  that  you  were 
trying  purposely  to  insult  and  annoy  her  by 
referring  to  a  bygone  tragedy.  The  mere  pres- 
ence of  this  Mr.  Armathwaite,  who  is  wholly 
unknown  here,  lends  color  to  that  assumption. 
He  may  be  a  'cousin'  by  the  second  marriage. 
It  is  even  conceivable  that  Mrs.  Ogilvey,  as 
Mrs.  Garth  now  is,  did  not  wish  her  second 
husband's  relatives  to  know  of  the  way  in 
which  her  first  husband  met  his  death.  The 
fact  that  Mr.  Armathwaite  rented  the  Grange 
can  be  regarded  as  nothing  more  than  an  or- 
dinary coincidence.  Isn't  it  possible,  Mr. 
Walker,  that  you  blundered  very  seriously  in 
thrusting  yourself  into  Miss  Meg's  presence, 
and  forcing  an  unpalatable  revelation  on  her  I ' ' 

Walker's  red  face  positively  blanched.  For 
one  instant  his  nerve  failed  him. 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  he  muttered,  in 
dire  confusion. 

"It  strikes  me  as  a  perfectly  tenable  theory," 
said  Dobb,  rising,  and  thereby  showing  that  the 
interview  was  at  an  end.  "You  took  me  rather 
by  surprise  when  you  called  me  out  of  my  office 
this  afternoon,  but  I  have  given  the  matter 
some  calm  reflection  in  the  interim,  and  have 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  BATTLE     223 

come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  found  in  Elm-- 
dale  what  is  vulgarly  known  as  a  mare's  nest." 

Walker  stood  up,  too.  He  realized  that  he 
was  being  dismissed  with  ignominy,  and  re- 
sented it.  Thumping  an  oak  table  with  his 
clenched  fist,  he  cried  passionately: 

"Not  me!  You'll  see  in  a  day  or  two,  Mr. 
Dobb,  who's  makin'  the  mistake.  If  I'm  wrong 
I'll  eat  humble  pie,  but  I'm  not  eatin'  any  now, 
thank  you.  I  came  to  you,  meanin'  to  do  a  good 
turn  to  all  parties " 

"Restrain  yourself,  please,"  broke  in  the 
solicitor,  speaking  with  cold  dignity.  "What 
kind  of  'good  turn'  is  it  that  rakes  up  bygone 
troubles,  and  spreads  scandalous  gossip?" 

"You've  missed  my  point  entirely,  Mr. 
Dobb,"  protested  Walker.  "I  thought  that 
you,  being  a  friend  of  the  Garths,  could  drop  a 
quiet  hint  to  Miss  Meg  not  to  talk  about  her 
dead-and-gone  father  as  though  he  might  ar- 
rive here  by  the  next  train — that's  all." 

"But  it  is  not  all.  If  it  were,  your  attitude 
would  be  understandable,  even  praiseworthy. 
What  you  are  saying  indirectly  is  that  Mr. 
Stephen  Garth  is  alive,  and  that  some  unknown 
person  lies  in  Bellerby  churchyard." 

Thus  cornered,  Walker  floundered  badly. 

"I'm  not  able  to  argue  with  you,  sir,  and 
that's  the  truth,"  he  said.  "Neither  do  I  want 
to  be  drawn  into  a  squabble  of  this  sort.  Of 


224  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER^ 

course,  I  know  nothing  of  any  second  mar- 
riage; but,  even  if  I  did,  Miss  Meg  isn't  a  little 
girl,  who  might  have  forgotten  her  real  father. 
Look  here !  I  stick  to  my  notion,  and  that's  the 
long  and  the  short  of  it.  There's  a  mystery  at 
Elmdale,  and  it's  bound  to  come  out,  no  matter 
what  difference  of  opinion  there  may  be  be- 
tween you  and  me." 

A  parlormaid  entered  with  a  telegram. 

" Excuse  me  one  moment,"  said  Mr.  Dobb; 
"that  is,  unless  you  wish  to  go!"  he  added. 

Walker  was  constrained  to  put  on  a  bold 
front  before  the  servant. 

"I  can  wait  another  couple  of  minutes,"  he 
said  off-handedly.  The  lawyer  smiled;  but,  for 
his  own  purposes,  he  did  not  wish  to  quarrel 
outright  with  his  visitor.  He  opened  the  buff 
envelope,  and  read,  and  not  even  the  experience 
of  a  lifetime  served  to  mask  the  incredulous  dis- 
may which  leaped  to  his  face. 

For  the  message  ran : 

"Have  reason  to  believe  that  a  gentleman 
passing  under  the  name  of  Robert  Armath- 
waite  is  in  or  near  Nuttonby.  Kindly  make 
guarded  inquiries  and  wire  result. — SIG- 
MATIC.  ' ' 

Now,  "Sigmatic"  was  the  code  address  of  a 
department  of  the  India  Office  in  which  Mr. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  BATTLE    225 

Dobb's  eldest  son  held  a  responsible  position. 
That  phrase,  " passing  under  the  name  of," 
suggested  many  possibilities  to  the  legal  mind. 
Moreover,  the  fact  that  a  Government  depart- 
ment was  interested,  and  that  the  ordinary  of- 
ficial channel  for  investigation  was  not  em- 
ployed, gave  him  furiously  to  think.  In  any 
event,  he  had  been  saved  from  the  exceeding 
unwisdom  of  treating  James  Walker  too  cava- 
lierly. 

"I'll  just  answer  this,  as  the  messenger  is 
waiting,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "If  you're  not 
in  a  hurry,  Mr.  Walker,  sit  down  again.  I'll 
send  in  a  decanter  of  sherry  and  some  cigar- 
ettes. Help  yourself,  will  you?" 

He  went  out.  James  Walker  grinned,  and 
plunged  his  clenched  fists  into  his  trousers 
pockets. 

"That  telegram  knocked  old  Dobb  into  a 
cocked  hat,"  he  mused.  "Wonder  what  was  in 
it?  Something  to  do  with  the  Garths,  I'll  bet! 
Keep  a  steady  hand  on  the  reins,  Jimmy,  my 
boy,  and  you'll  finish  with  the  best  of  'em  yet!" 


CHAPTER  XH 

THE   DAWN    OF   A  BLACK   FRIDAY 

THERE  were  three  bedrooms  and  a  bathroom  on 
the  first  floor  of  the  Grange,  all  nearly  of  equal 
size,  and  remarkably  spacious,  since  they  cor- 
responded in  area  with  the  rooms  beneath. 
Percy  Whittaker  occupied  the  westerly  front 
room,  Marguerite  had  pre-empted  the  easterly 
one,  and  Armathwaite's  room  lay  in  the  north- 
east angle.  Thus,  he  was  early  aroused  by  the 
morning  sun,  and  was  up  and  about  long  before 
Mrs.  Jackson  or  Betty  put  in  an  appearance. 
For  lack  of  the  bath  which  he  had  been  pre- 
vented from  ordering  through  Tom  Bland,  he 
splashed  in  an  old-fashioned  shallow  zinc  con- 
trivance which  reminded  him  of  former  days 
in  Baluchistan.  Crossing  the  landing  after- 
wards, meaning  to  look  in  on  Percy  Whittaker, 
he  glanced  at  the  now  oddly  familiar  black  fig- 
ure in  the  stained-glass  window. 

At  the  moment  his  thoughts  werr  not  dwelling 
on  the  topic  which  had  occupied  them,  well  nigh 
to  the  exclusion  of  all  else,  since  he  had  first 
set  eyes  on  Elmdale,  yet,  by  some  occult  in- 
fluence, no  sooner  did  he  meet  the  cold,  unsee- 

226 


THE  DAWN- OF  A  BLACK  FRIDAY  227 

ing  glafe  of  the  painted  effigy  than  his  brain 
Jgan  to  calculate  the  significance  of  certain 
dates.  The  Nuttoriby  Gazette  dated  Saturday, 
June  22nd,  of  two  years  ago,  had  stated  that 
the  inquest  on  Stephen  Garth  was  held  at  the 
Fox  and  Hounds  Inn,  Elmdale,  "to-day"  (so 
the  enterprising  Banks  had  evidently  brought 
out  a  special  edition).  Mrs.  Jackson  and  Police 
Constable  Leadbitter  had  deposed  to  the  finding 
of  the  body  on  "Friday  evening,"  which  would 
be  the  21st.  Mrs.  Jackson  and  Betty  had  last 
seen  Garth  alive  on  the  Wednesday.  Certain 
post-mortem  indications  showed  that  the  death 
had  taken  place  that  night,  the  19th.  To-day, 
Friday,  two  years  later,  was  the  19th!  Arma- 
thwaite  was  not  a  nervous  subject,  but  he  was 
aware  once  more  of  a  creepy  sensation  when  he 
realized  that  this  sunlit  morning  probably 
heralded  in  the  fatal  anniversary. 

Seen  in  a  clear  and  penetrating  light,  and 
closely  examined  at  an  hour  when  each  line 
stood  out  boldly,  the  face  of  the  figure  revealed 
certain  peculiarities.  Artists  in  stained  glass 
seldom  attempt  to  convey  subtleties  in  flesh 
tints.  At  best,  their  craft  is  mainly  decorative, 
and  effects  are  obtained  by  judicious  grouping 
of  colors,  each  of  a  distinct  tone  value,  rather 
than  by  the  skilled  merging  of  light  into  shadow, 
which  is  the  painter's  chief  aim.  But,  in  this 
instance,  a  deliberate  attempt  had  been  made  to 


228  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

depict  features  of  a  truly  malevolent  cast.  The 
oval  formed  by  the  open  visor  of  the  helmet 
gave  scope  for  the  use  of  an  almost  invisible 
casing  of  lead,  which  also  provided  the  larger 
outline  of  the  helmet  itself,  and  of  an  enormous 
raven,  with  outstretched  wings,  perched  on  the 
crest. 

Yet,  instead  of  the  youthful  and  noble  count- 
enance which  tradition  would  surely  ascribe  to 
a  gallant  prince,  the  face  which  peered  from 
the  casque  was  that  of  an  evil-minded  ascetic. 
Indeed,  the  longer  Armathwaite  looked,  the 
more  he  was  convinced  that  the  artist  had  tried 
to  suggest  a  mere  skull  covered  with  dead  skin. 
The  nose  was  pinched,  and  the  nostrils  were 
unpleasantly  prominent.  The  lips  were  mere 
seams  of  dried  parchment,  and  the  cavernous 
eyes  were  really  two  empty  sockets. 

This  sinister  and  ghoul-like  visage  was  totally 
at  variance  with  the  remainder  of  the  work. 
The  armor  was  correct  from  helm  to  sollerets, 
with  hauberk  and  corselet,  greaves  and  jam- 
bards,  while  the  gauntleted  hands  were  crossed, 
in  true  warrior  fashion,  on  the  hilt  of  a  long, 
straight  sword.  The  vignette  border  of  ten- 
drils and  vine-leaves  was  charming  in  design 
and  rich  in  well-blended  color,  and  an  observer 
of  critical  taste  could  not  fail  to  compare  the 
gross  offense  of  the  portrait  with  the  quiet 
beauty  of  its  setting.  To  some  minds,  there  is 


TEE  DAWN  OF  A  BLACK  FRIDAY  229 

an  element  in  art  which  denies  a  true  sense  of 
harmony  to  a  distorted  imagination,  and  the  no- 
tion was  suddenly  borne  in  on  Armathwaite 
that  the  same  hand  had  never  limned  that  de- 
moniac face  and  the  remainder  of  the  window. 
The  one  might  have  been  the  product  of  some 
debauchee  steeped  in  the  worst  excesses  of  a 
libidinous  society,  while  the  other  breathed 
the  calm  serenity  of  the  Renaissance.  Armath- 
waite had  in  full  measure  the  hunter's  instinct 
which  incites  mankind  to  seek  out  and  destroy 
ferocious  beasts.  If  he  had  a  weapon  in  his 
hands  at  the  moment  he  would  have  smashed 
that  diabolical  mask  out  of  existence. 

The  unaccountable  spasm  passed,  and  he  en- 
tered Whittaker's  room,  to  find  that  discon- 
solate youth  lying  on  his  back,  wide  awake,  and 
staring  blankly  at  the  ceiling. 

"Hullo!"  he  said  cheerily.  "Had  a.  good 
night's  rest?" 

"Pretty  fair,"  muttered  the  invalid,  turning 
his  eyes  dully  on  the  other.  "That  doctor  chap 
doped  me,  I  expect.  Anyhow  I  slept  till  I 
heard  you  splashin'  in  the  bath." 

"How's  the  ankle?" 

"Rotten.  Look  here,  Mr.  Armathwaite,  you 
seem  to  understand  this  sort  of  thing.  Bar 
jokes,  how  long  must  I  remain  here?" 

"In  bed,  do  you  mean?" 

"Yes." 


230  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"A  week,  at  least.  After  that,  you  may  be 
able  to  hop  about  on  one  leg." 

* '  If  you  were  in  my  place,  would  you  stop  in 
bed  a  week?" 

"What  else  could  I  do?  Even  walking  with 
a  crutch  is  impossible  because  of  the  strain  on 
the  ligaments." 

Whittaker  moved  involuntarily,  and  was 
given  a  sharp  reminder  that  his  informant  was 
not  exaggerating  his  disability. 

"All  right,"  he  said  sullenly.  "What  time 
is  it?" 

"About  six  o'clock.  Betty  will  bring  you 
some  tea  and  an  egg  before  seven." 

"Miss  Ogilvey  isn't  up  yet?" 

"No." 

Half  unconsciously,  Armathwaite  resented 
the  studied  formality  of  that  "Miss  Ogilvey." 
He  fully  appreciated  its  intent.  He  was  a 
stranger  and  must  be  kept  at  arm's  length. 
Moreover,  the  crippled  Percy  held  him  at  a  dis- 
advantage. The  younger  man  might  be  as  in- 
solent as  he  chose — Armathwaite  was  muzzled. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you,"  he  said. 

"In  what  way?" 

"Well,  if  the  pain  is  very  bad,  an  extra 
bandage,  soaked  in  cold  water,  will  relieve  the 
burning  sensation." 

1  i  No,  thanks.    I  '11  wait  till  the  doctor  comes. ' ' 

"He  is  bringing  a  nurse,  by  the  way.    You'll 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  BLACK  FRIDAY  231 

need  proper  attention  for  the  next  few  days." 
11  Right.    Don't  let  me  keep  you.    I  think  I 
can  sleep  another  hour  or  so." 

Armathwaite  was  at  no  loss  to  understand 
why  the  cub  wished  to  be  rid  of  him.  Whit- 
taker  was  not  only  torturing  himself  with  the 
knowledge  that  his  host  would  be  free  to  enjoy 
Marguerite  Ogilvey's  company  without  let  or 
hindrance,  but  he  also  felt  a  grudge  against  the 
fates  which  had  snatched  him  out  of  active 
participation  in  the  day's  events.  Neither 
dreamed  that  the  accident  would  precipitate 
the  crisis  each  wished  to  avoid.  In  fact,  in  view 
of  what  did  actually  happen,  it  would  be  in- 
teresting to  speculate  on  the  probable  outcome 
if,  by  chance,  Armathwaite  had  been  disabled 
instead  of  Whittaker.  But  history,  whether 
dealing  with  men  or  nations,  recks  little  of 
"what  might  have  been."  It  is  far  too  busily 
occupied  in  fashioning  the  present  and  conceal- 
ing the  past,  for,  let  students  dig  and  delve 
ever  so  industriously,  they  seldom  obtain  a  true 
record  of  occurrences  which  have  shaken  the 
world,  while,  in  the  lives  of  the  few  people  with 
whom  this  chronicle  deals,  there  were  then  at 
work  certain  minor  influences  which  no  one  of 
them  ever  discerned  in  their  entirety.  There 
was  nothing  surprising  in  this.  A  crystal- 
minded  woman  like  Marguerite  Ogilvey  could 
never  adjust  her  perceptive  faculties  to  the 


232  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

plane  of  a  decadent  Percy,  while  Robert  Arma- 
thwaite  was  too  impatient  of  ignoble  minds 
that  he  should  ever  seek  to  uncover  the  mole- 
burrowings  of  James  Walker. 

Certain  developments  took  place  which  af- 
fected each  and  all  in  relative  degrees,  and  each 
acted  according  to  his  or  her  bent.  Beyond 
that,  analysis  of  cause  and  effect  can  hardly 
be  other  than  sheer  guesswork. 

Armathwaite  rummaged  in  the  larder  for  a 
crust,  chewed  it,  and,  having  thus  appeased  the 
laws  of  hygiene,  lighted  the  first  joyous  pipe  of 
the  morning. 

He  was  smoking  contentedly  in  the  garden 
when  a  bent,  elderly  man  approached.  Though 
twisted  with  rheumatism — the  painful  tribute 
which  Mother  Earth  exacts  from  those  of  her 
sons  who  know  how  to  obtain  her  chief  treas- 
ures— this  man  quickened  into  a  new  life  when 
he  saw  Armathwaite.  He  cast  a  sorrowing 
glance  at  the  wilderness  of  weeds  as  he  came 
up  the  garden  path,  but  his  weather-lined  face 
broke  into  a  pleasant  smile  as  he  halted  in  front 
of  the  new  tenant. 

"Good  mornin',  sir,"  he  said,  touching  his 
hat,  though  the  action  was  devoid  of  any  sem- 
blance of  servility.  ' '  Things  are  in  a  nice  mess, 
aren't  they?"  and  he  wheeled  round  to  gaze  at 
dandelions  rampant  in  a  bed  sacred  to  bego- 
nias. 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  BLACK  FRIDAY  233 

"They  are,  indeed!'*  agreed  Armathwaite, 
wondering  what  white-haired  philosopher  had 
come  on  the  scene. 

"You'll  be  Mr.  Armathwaite,  I'm  thinking" 
went  on  the  other. 

"Yes." 

1 '  My  name 's  Smith,  sir.  Mr.  Leadbitter,  the 
policeman,  told  me  you  had  taken  on  the  Grange. 
Mebbe  you'll  be  wantin'  a  gardener." 

A  light  broke  in  on  Armathwaite. 

"Oh!  Begonia  Smith!"  he  cried.  "Come 
back  to  the  old  love — is  that  it?" 

"That's  it,  sir.  She  looks  as  if  she  wanted 
someone  to  look  after  her." 

"Very  well.  Take  charge.  It's  too  late  in 
the  year  to  grow  flowers  or  vegetables,  but  you 
can  tidy  things  up  a  bit." 

"A  man  who  has  his  heart  in  the  job,  sir, 
can  grow  flowers  at  any  time  of  the  year.  If 
I  was  to  drop  a  line  to  the  Nuttonby  carrier  to- 
night, I'd  have  a  fair  show  of  geraniums,  cal- 
ceolarias, lobelia,  an'  marguerite  daisies  in  the 
front  here  by  to-morrow  evenin'." 

Armathwaite  was  not  one  to  check  enthu- 
siasm. Moreover,  the  notion  of  brightening  the 
surroundings  appealed  to  him. 

"That  would  be  sharp  work,"  he  said,  eyeing 
the  jungle. 

Smith,  with  the  suspiciousness  of  an  old  man 
eager  to  show  that  he  was  as  good  as  some  of 


234  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

the  young  ones,  misunderstood  that  critical 
survey. 

"  Before  Tom  Bland  brings  the  plants  from 
the  nursery  I'll  have  a  canny  bit  o'  soil  ready 
for  'em,"  he  vowed. 

'•'I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  Armathwaite,  quickly 
alive  to  the  aged  gardener's  repudiation  of  any 
doubt  cast  on  his  powers.  "But  surely  you  can 
be  better  employed  than  in  mere  digging.  Are 
there  laborers  to  be  hired  in  the  village?" 

Smith  swept  the  bare  meadow-land  with  the 
appraising  eyes  of  knowledge. 

"Plenty  of  'em,  sir.  The  hay  is  in,  an'  they'll 
be  slack  enough  now  for  another  month." 

"Very  well.  Send  your  order  to  Bland,  in- 
cluding such  implements  as  you  may  need. 
Hire  three  or  four  men,  and  get  them  busy.  By 
the  way,  have  you  heard  that  Miss  Meg  is 
here?" 

"Miss  Meg!    Our  Miss  Meg?" 

Smith's  astonishment  was  not  feigned.  He 
was  slightly  dazzled  already  by  the  way  in 
which  his  new  employer  had  received  sugges- 
tions for  the  regeneration  of  the  garden;  now, 
he  was  thoroughly  bewildered. 

"Yes,"  said  Armathwaite,  watching  him  nar- 
rowly. "She  may  join  us  any  minute.  Of 
course,  if  she  expresses  any  preference  for  a 
particular  method  of  laying  out  the  flower-beds, 
you  will  adopt  it  without  question." 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  BLACK  FRIDAY  235 

"Why,  sir,"  said  the  old  man  simply,  "if 
it's  the  same  Miss  Meg  as  I  hev'  in  mind  I'll 
not  charge  you  a  penny  for  what  little  I  can  do 
about  the  place.  It'll  be  enough  for  me  to  see 
her  bonnie  face  again  an'  hear  her  voice." 

"I'll  tell  her  that,"  laughed  Armathwaite. 
"But  we  don't  trade  on  those  terms.  You  were 
happy  here,  I  suppose,  before  Mr.  Garth  died!" 

"No  man  could  ha'  worked  for  nicer  people, 
sir.  It  bruk  me  all  to  pieces  when  t'  maister 
tellt  me  to  go.  An'  I  never  rightly  understood 
it,  until — until  the  sad  thing  happened  you'll 
hev'  heerd  of.  Mr.  Garth  was  just  as  much  cut 
up  about  me  goin'  as  I  was  meself — that  was. 
the  queer  part  of  it  ...  Sir,  tell  me  this, 
D  'you  mean  to  live  here  any  length  o '  time  I ' ' 

"I  hope  so." 

"Well,  it's  a  bold  thing  to  say,  afore  I've 
known  ye  five  minnits,  so  to  speak,  an'  there 
may  be  nowt  in  it  other  than  owd  wives'  blether, 
but,  if  you  ain't  such  a  great  lover  o'  stained 
glass,  I  advise  ye  to  hev'  yon  staircase  window 
riven  out  by  t'  roots." 

"Now,  why  in  the  world  do  you  say  that?" 

"I  can't  put  it  into  plain  words,  sir,  an'  that's 
a  fact,  but  I'd  be  glad  to  see  the  house  shut  o' 
that  grinnin'  death's  head.  I  well  remember 
my  own  father  tellin'  me  there  was  a  curse  in 
it,  an'  many's  the  time  Mr.  Garth  laughed  at 
me  when  I  spoke  on 't.  But  t '  owd  man 's  proph- 


236  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

ecy  kem  yam-  (came  home)  to  roost  at  last. 
It  did,  an'  all." 

"What  reason  did  your  father  give  for  his 
belief?" 

"It's  a  strange  story,  sir,  but  I  know  bits  of 
it  are  true,  so  mebbe  the  rest  isn't  so  far  out. 
D'you  see  yon  farm?"  and  Begonia  Smith 
pointed  to  the  Burt  homestead. 

"Yes,"  said  Armathwaite.  "I  met  Mr.  Burt 
yesterday. ' ' 

"It's  built  on  the  ruins  o'  Holand  Castle,  sir. 
It's  barely  ten  years  ago  since  Mr.  Burt  used 
the  last  o'  t'  stones  for  his  new  barn.  These 
Holands  were  descended  from  a  lady  who  mar- 
ried Edward,  the  Black  Prince.  She  had  three 
sons  by  her  first  husband,  an'  one  of  'em  kem 
to  this  part  o'  Yorksheer.  As  was  the  way  in 
them  days,  he  set  a  church  alongside  his  castle, 
and  was  that  proud  of  his  step-father,  who 
would  ha'  bin  King  of  England  had  he  lived, 
that  he  had  that  painted  glass  window  med  in 
his  memory.  In  later  times,  when  there  was  a 
cry  about  images,  the  owner  of  Holand  Castle 
had  the  window  taken  out  an'  hidden.  Then, 
to  please  somebody  or  another,  he  set  fire  to 
t'  church.  After  that,  things  went  badly  with 
him,  an'  the  castle  was  deserted,  because  it  had 
the  plague,  though  I'm  thinking  the  only  plague 
was  bad  drainage.  Anyhow,  nigh  on  two  hun- 
dred year  ago,  a  man  named  Faulkner  settled 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  BLACK  FRIDAY  237 

i'  this  quiet  spot — you  can  guess  what  it  was 
like,  sir,  when  there  was  no  railways,  an'  the 
nearest  main  road  ran  through  Leyburn  on  t' 
other  side  o'  t'  moor.  This  Faulkner  had  gath- 
ered his  brass  in  no  good  way,  robbin'  ships 
an'  killin'  folk  on  the  high  seas,  it  was  said. 
He  used  to  import  hogsheads  o'  wine  all  the 
way  from  Whitby,  an'  rare  good  wood  was  in 
'em,  because  I  saw  the  last  of  'em  used  as  a  rain 
barrel,  an'  I'm  not  seventy  yet.  The  story  goes 
that  one  night,  in  his  cups,  he  was  annoyed  by 
the  way  the  Black  Prince  looked  at  him,  hard 
an'  condemnin',  like  a  judge.  He  got  a  pair 
o'  big  pistols,  an'  fired  one  at  the  Prince's  face. 
He  shot  the  eyes  out,  an'  then  aimed  the  second 
one  at  the  mouth,  but  that  burst,  and  blew  his 
own  right  hand  off,  an'  he  bled  to  death  afore 
they  could  plug  the  veins.  His  son,  who  was  a 
chip  o'  t'  owd  block,  hired  a  drunken  artist  to 
paint  another  face.  This  man  knew  nowt  about 
stained  glass,  but  he  was  a  rare  hand  at  drawin' 
terrible  things,  so  he  planned  yon  devil's  phiz 
on  oiled  paper,  an'  stuck  it  between  two  thin 
plates  o'  glass,  an'  it  was  leaded  in.  If  you  was 
to  climb  on  a  ladder  you'd  find  the  difference 
at  once  between  that  part  o' t'  window  an'  all  t' 
remainder.  Many's  the  time  I've  seen  it  when 
nailin'  up  the  wistaria,  an',  if  I'd  dared,  would 
have  put  the  hammer-head  through  it.  But  Mr. 
Garth  refused  to  have  it  touched.  He  called 


238  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

it  an  antiquarian  curiosity.  All  the  same,  he 
wouldn't  have  Miss  Meg  told  about  it,  because 
it  might  have  frightened  her  but  he  was  always 
careful  to  see  that  the  blind  was  not  drawn 
across  the  front  door  on  June  evenings.  Mebbe, 
you'll  have  heerd  of  a  ghost,  sir?" 

A  window  was  raised,  and  both  men  looked 
up.  Marguerite  was  leaning  out,  her  face  aglow 
with  pleasure. 

"Why,  if  it  isn't  my  own  dear  Smith!"  she 
cried.  "What  lucky  wind  brought  you  here? 
Mr.  Armathwaite,  is  this  your  doing?  Smith, 
I'll  be  down  in  a  jiffy.  Mind  you  don't  ske- 
daddle before  I  come!" 

Thus  it  befell  that  when  Betty  Jackson 
brought  an  early  breakfast  to  Percy  Whittaker, 
and  she  was  asked  where  Miss  Meg  was,  she 
answered : 

"Out  in  the  garden  with  Mr.  Armathwaite. 
They're  talkin'  to  Begonia  Smith." 

"Ah,  I  heard  the  voices.  And  who,  pray,  is 
Begonia  Smith?"  demanded  Percy. 

"The  old  gardener,"  said  Betty.  "He  was 
here  years  an'  years." 

"Does  Mr.  Armathwaite  mean  to  have  the 
grounds  attended  to?" 

"Looks  like  it,  sir.  He  an'  Miss  Meg  are 
measurin'  bits,  an'  Smith's  stickin'  in  pieces 
of  wood.  It'll  be  nice  to  have  the  place  kept 
spick  an'  span  again." 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  BLACK  FRIDAY  239 

It  was,  perhaps,  unfortunate  that  Meg's 
glimpse  of  her  friend  from  the  bedroom  window 
should  have  brought  her  downstairs  pell-mell 
without  even  a  tap  on  Whittaker's  door  to  in- 
quire as  to  his  well-being.  It  was  perhaps, 
equally  unfortunate  that,  when  she  remembered 
her  remissness,  she  should  have  hurried  to  his 
room  while  her  cheeks  were  flushed  with  the 
strong  moorland  air  and  her  eyes  shining  with 
excitement. 

"How  are  you,  Percy  dear?"  she  said,  en- 
tering in  response  to  his  surly  "Come  in!" 
"I  ought  to  have  looked  in  on  you  sooner,  but 
I  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes  when  I  saw  Mr. 
Armathwaite  in  the  garden  with  Smith,  our 
own  old  gardener,  whom  I've  known  ever  since 
I  was  a  baby." 

"Why  has  Armathwaite  brought  Smith 
here?"  said  Whittaker,  peering  at  her  fixedly, 
yet  veiling  those  gray-green  eyes  under  low- 
ered lids. 

"He  didn't.  Smith  just  came.  But  isn't  it 
fortunate?  He  couldn't  have  found  a  better 
man,  especially  as  Smith  won't  have  any  of  the 
hard  work  on  his  hands.  Mr.  Armathwaite  is 
giving  him  all  the  help  he  needs." 

"To  put  the  place  in  order?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  Smith  promises  marvels 
by  to-morrow  evening.  But  you  haven't  told 
me  yet  how  your  poor  ankle  feels." 


240  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"Never  mind  my  poor  ankle,  Meg.  I  under- 
stood that  the  house  was  only  let  for  three 
months?" 

"Oh,  much  longer,  I  believe.  Mr.  Armath- 
waite 

* '  Confound  Mr.  Armathwaite !  The  devil  fly 
away  with  Mr.  Armathwaite!  I'm  sick  of  his 
name :  I  spit  on  him ! ' '  He  literally  writhed  in 
a  paroxysm  of  anger. 

"Percy!" 

He  had  chosen  an  unhappy  word  when  he 
spoke  of  spitting  on  his  rival.  He  reminded  her 
of  a  toad,  and  she  hated  toads. 

With  a  desperate  effort  he  sat  bolt  upright 
in  the  bed. 

"It's  high  time  you  and  I  had  a  few  straight 
words,  Meg,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  lost  its 
drawl,  and  the  blase  manner  was  dropped. 
"You  haven't  forgotten,  I  suppose,  that  I've 
asked  you  to  marry  me?" 

"No.  Perhaps,  if  you  rack  your  memory, 
you'll  remember  my  answer,"  she  said  in- 
dignantly, for  she  felt  the  innuendo,  and  was 
resolved  to  resent  it  with  vigor. 

"No,  oh,  no!  You  said  you  didn't  mean  to 
marry  anybody.  That  is  a  maidenly  sentiment 
which  is  right  and  proper,  and  I  agreed  with 
it  at  the  time.  But  the  position  has  altered  con- 
siderably during  the  past  couple  of  days.  As 
matters  stand  now,  Meg,  you  may  change  your 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  BLACK  FRIDAY  241 

mind,  and  I  beg  to  inform  you  that  when  you 
do  marry,  you'll  marry  me." 

"It  is  hardly  fair  to  take  advantage  of  your 
accident,"  she  said,  with  a  quiet  scorn  that  only 
served  to  infuriate  him  the  more. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said  thickly. 

"You  are  not  usually  so  dense.  If  you  were 
not  ill  you  would  never  dare  speak  to  me  in 
that  fashion." 

1 1  Never  mind  my  illness.  That  will  soon  pass. 
And  the  density  you  complain  of  is  not  so  one- 
sided as  you  imagine.  I  pointed  out  that  the 
position  had  changed.  Two  days  ago  you  were 
free  to  say  'Yes'  or  'No*  to  my  proposal.  To- 
day you  are  not.  You've  got  to  marry  me  now, 
Meg.  You'll  be  my  wife  by  fair  means  or  foul. 
Need  I  explain  myself  further?" 

"It — it  would  be  as  well." 

"All  right.  You've  asked  for  it,  and  you'll 
get  it.  Unless  I  have  your  promise  here  and 
now  that  our  marriage  will  take  place  as  soon 
as  I  can  stand  on  my  feet  again,  I'll  have  your 
father  arrested  for  murder." 

"Percy,  you  must  be  mad  even  to  think  of 
such  a  dreadful  thing!" 

"No,  not  mad,  but  sane,  very  sane  and  wide- 
eyed.  That  fellow,  Armathwaite,  wants  you, 
and  he'll  snap  you  up  while  I'm  lying  in  this 
infernal  house  unless  I  strike  now,  and  strike 
hard.  I  mean  exactly  what  I  say.  I've  thought 


242  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

it  all  out  here,  though  I'm  suffering  pain  enough 
to  drive  me  crazy.  But  the  mind  can  conquer 
the  body,  and  my  mind  is  not  only  clear,  but 
fixed.  Tell  me  you'll  marry  me,  and  I'll  be 
patient  as  a  saint.  I'll  take  your  word  for  it. 
I  don't  want  you  to  sit  by  my  side  and  hold 
my  hand,  as  some  sniveling  fools  would  wish. 
You  can  plan  your  gardens  with  Armathwaite, 
and  smile  at  him  and  talk  with  him  as  much  as 
you  please.  But  you've  got  to  be  my  wife.  Re- 
fuse, and  the  only  way  you  can  save  your  father 
from  arrest  is  by  getting  Armathwaite  to  com- 
mit another  murder." 

"You  brute!"  she  almost  whispered.  Her 
lips  were  quivering  pitifully,  but  the  fount  of 
tears  was  dried,  and  her  eyes  blazed  with  an 
intensity  that  conquered  Whittaker  for  the 
moment. 

He  lay  back  on  the  pillows  again,  with  a 
smile  that  was  twisted  into  a  rictus  of  agony 
as  a  twinge  wrung  the  injured  limb. 

'  *  Call  me  any  hard  names  you  like, ' '  he  mut- 
tered, closing  his  eyes  under  the  intolerable 
contempt  and  loathing  of  Marguerite's  stead- 
fast scrutiny.  "I've  said  what  I  had  to  say, 
and  I'll  not  depart  from  a  syllable  of  it.  You'd 
have  married  me  one  of  these  days  if  you  hadn't 
met  Armathwaite.  He  has  turned  your  pretty 
little  head  with  his  knight-errant  airs  and 
cavalry  officer  appearance.  So  I've  determined 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  BLACK  FRIDAY  243 

to  pull  you  back  by  force — see?  You'll  get  over 
it  in  time.  You  and  I  will  be  as  good  chums  as 
ever  when  this  gale  has  blown  itself  out.  Don't 
think  I  shall  hold  you  less  dear  because  your 
father  placed  himself  in  danger  of  the  law. 
He  escaped  neatly  before,  and  can  escape  again. 
I'll  even  tell  you  how.  No  one  here  knows— 

He  opened  his  eyes  again,  to  ascertain  if 
some  dawning  interest  in  the  project  he  was 
about  to  reveal — which  was  precisely  that  al- 
ready set  forth  by  Armathwaite— had  driven 
the  horror  from  her  drawn  features;  but  Mar- 
guerite had  vanished.  He  listened  for  her  foot- 
steps, and  could  hear  no  sound.  He  shouted 
loudly,  and  tugged  frenziedly  at  a  bell.  Betty 
came  running,  thinking  he  had  fallen  out  of  bed, 
and  needed  assistance. 

"Why,  whatever  is  the  matter?"  she  cried, 
with  true  Yorkshire  abruptness,  when  she  found 
him  lying  as  she  had  left  him  a  few  minutes 
earlier. 

"Where  is  Miss  Meg?"  he  raged.  "Tell  her 
she  must  come  here — at  once!  Tell  her  that! 
Use  those  very  words — come  at  once!" 

"My !  What  a  to-do  about  nowt !  I  was  sure 
the  house  was  on  fire!" 

"Confound  you,  will  you  go!"  he  shouted. 

"Yes,  I'll  go!  For  goodness'  sake,  keep 
quiet.  You're  doing  yourself  no  good  by  gettin' 
that  excited.  Oh,  you  needn't  bawl  at  me! 


244  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

I'll  find  her.  It  isn't  such  a  big  place  that  she 
can  be  lost  for  more'n  a  minnit  or  two." 

Grumbling  audibly  at  the  funny  ways  some 
folk  had,  to  be  sure,  Betty  went  downstairs. 
She  looked  into  the  drawing-room,  dining- 
room,  and  library,  but  Marguerite  was  in  none 
of  those  places.  Then  she  passed  out  into  the 
garden;  through  the  open  window  Whittaker 
could  hear  her  asking  Armathwaite  if  he  knew 
where  Miss  Meg  was.  He  caught  the  answer, 
too. 

"Yes.    She  left  me  to  visit  Mr.  Whittaker." 

"She's  not  there,  sir,  and  he  has  just  sent 
me  for  her  in  an  awful  hurry,"  said  Betty. 

"Is  it  anything  I  can  do  for  him?" 

"No,  sir.    He  wants  Miss  Meg." 

"Well,  she  can't  be  far  away.  She  may  be 
in  her  bedroom.  Go  and  look  there.  If  I  see 
her,  I'll  hand  on  your  message." 

Soon,  when  Betty  had  ransacked  the  house, 
she  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Marguerite  had 
gone  into  the  village.  For  some  reason,  on 
hearing  this,  Whittaker  appeared  to  be  calmer, 
and  only  growled  an  order  that  he  was  to  be 
informed  instantly  of  Miss  Garth's  return. 
Betty  retreated  to  the  kitchen.  When  the 
door  was  safely  closed  she  said  to  her 
mother : 

"That  Percy  Whittaker  is  daft,  an'  it's  easy 
to  see  what  ails  him.  If  I  was  Miss  Meg  I 


THE  DAWN  OF  A  BLACK  FRIDAY  245 

wouldn't  have  him  if  he  was  hung  with  dia- 
monds. ' ' 

"You're  nobbut  a  fond  lass,"  commented 
Mrs.  Jackson,  cracking  an  egg  on  the  side  of 
a  basin  preparatory  to  emptying  its  contents 
into  a  frying-pan.  "Always  thinkin'  of  young 
men,  like  the  rest  of  'em.  Poor  Meg  Garth  has 
other  things  to  bother  her.  If  you  hadn't  lost 
a  good  father  when  you  were  too  little  to  ken 
owt  about  it,  you'd  know  what  she's  goin' 
through  now. ' ' 

"But  she  says  her  father  is  livin',"  said 
Betty. 

"Tell  me  summat  fresh,"  retorted  her 
mother.  "Wouldn't  it  be  better  for  her  if  he 
wasn't?  You  mark  my  words.  There'll  be  a 
bonny  row  i'  this  house  afore  we're  much 
older.  Now,  hurry  up  with  t'  toast.  No  matter 
what  else  happens,  folk  mun  eat." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

DETJS  EX   MACHINA 

AFTEB  a  while,  Betty  came  to  Armathwaite 
again. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  breakfast  is  ready.  Shall 
I  bring  it  in,  or  will  you  wait  for  Miss  Meg?" 
she  said. 

That  a  second  inquiry  as  to  Marguerite's 
whereabouts  should  be  necessary  seemed  to 
surprise  him. 

"You  were  looking  for  Miss  Garth  a  few 
minutes  ago.  Didn't  you  find  her?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"No,  sir.    She's  not  in  the  house." 

* l  But  what  can  have  become  of  her  ? ' ' 

"I  thought,  sir,  she  might  ha'  gone  into  t' 
village. ' ' 

"Why?" 

"She  knows  everybody  i'  t'  place.  She  said 
last  night  that  now  she  was  makin'  a  bit  of  a 
stay  she'd  be  seein'  some  o'  t'  folk." 

"I  think  I  should  have  noticed  her  if  she  had 
gone  out  by  the  gate,"  he  said,  weighing  the 
point.  "Smith!"  he  called,  "has  Miss  Meg 
left  the  house  recently — within  the  past  ten 
minutes,  I  mean?" 

246 


DEUS  EX  MACHINA  247 

1  'Not  that  I  know  of,  sir,"  said  Smith;  "but 
I'm  that  worritted  by  the  state  of  some  o'  these 
here  beds  that  ammost  owt  (almost  anything) 
might  ha'  happened  without  me  givin'  it  heed." 

"Bang  that  gong  at  the  front  door,"  said 
Armathwaite  to  Betty.  "It  should  be  heard  in 
every  house  in  Elmdale,  and  she  will  under- 
stand. ' ' 

The  gong  was  duly  banged,  and  its  effect  on 
Elmdale  was  immediately  perceptible.  Old 
Mrs.  Bolland  vowed  afterwards  that  she  would 
sit  permanently  at  the  back  bedroom  window, 
because,  being  rheumaticky,  she  couldn't  get 
upstairs  quickly  enough,  and  there  was  sum- 
mat  to  see  nowadays  at  t'  Grange. 

But  the  tocsin  failed  to  reach  the  one  ear  for 
which  it  was  intended.  The  village  produced 
every  live  inhabitant  except  Marguerite  Ogil- 
vey. 

"Was  Miss  Meg  friendly  with  the  Burts?" 
inquired  Armathwaite,  when  he  and  Betty  re- 
alized it  was  useless  to  gaze  expectantly  either 
at  the  corner  of  the  roadway  visible  from  the 
porch,  or  at  such  small  cross-sections  of  the  vil- 
lage "street"  as  could  be  seen  at  irregular  in- 
tervals between  the  houses. 

"Yes,  sir.  She'd  often  walk  over  there," 
said  the  girl,  gazing  at  once  in  the  direction  of 
the  Castle  Farm,  which  was  the  name  of  the 
holding. 


248  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"She  would  know  that  breakfast  was  on  the 
way?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!  I  axed  her  meself  when  I 
brought  her  a  cup  of  tea.  She  said  that  nine 
o  'clock  would  suit. ' ' 

Betty  turned  involuntarily  to  consult  the 
grandfather's  clock  in  the  hall.  The  hands 
stood  at  ten  minutes  past  nine ;  but,  in  the  same 
moment,  she  remembered  that  the  clock  was  not 
going.  Armathwaite  followed  her  glance,  and 
looked  at  his  watch. 

"Ten  minutes  past  nine,"  he  answered,  with 
a  laugh.  "The  old  clock  is  right  to  a  tick.  Was 
it  in  use  while  the  Sheffield  lady  remained  in  the 
house!" 

"No,  sir.  It  stopped  at  that  time  when  the 
old  man  died." 

Then  she  giggled.  There  is  hardly  a  man  or 
woman  in  Yorkshire  who  does  not  know  that 
the  words  of  a  famous  song  were  suggested  by 
the  behavior  of  a  clock  which  is  still  exhibited 
in  an  inn  on  the  south  side  of  the  Tees  at  Pierce 
Bridge,  and  the  girl  had  unconsciously  repeated 
the  tag  of  verses  and  chorus. 

Armathwaite  had  yet  to  learn  of  this  treas- 
ured possession  of  the  county  of  broad  acres, 
so  he  eyed  Betty  rather  disapprovingly. 
Moved  by  an  impulse  which  he  regarded  as 
nothing  more  than  a  desire  to  check  such  un- 
due levity,  he  strode  into  the  hall,  found  a  key 


DEUS  EX  MACHINA  249 

resting  on  a  ledge  of  the  clock's  canopy,  wound 
up  the  heavy  weights,  and  started  the  pen- 
dulum. 

1  'Perhaps  our  ancient  friend  may  be  more 
accurate  than  you,  Betty,"  he  said.  "You 
mean,  I  suppose,  that  it  stopped  at  that  time 
because  it  was  not  wound.  How  do  you  know 
the  hour,  or  even  the  day,  anyone  died  here?" 

"Well,  I  don't,  sir,  an'  that's  a  fact,"  she 
admitted.  "But  what  about  breakfast?"  . 

"Attend  to  Mr.  Whittaker— I'll  wait!" 

He  went  out  again,  and  saw  Smith  hobbling 
down  the  bye-road. 

"Hi!"  he  cried,  "if  you're  going  into  the 
village  you  might  ask  if  anyone  has  seen  Miss 
Meg!" 

Smith  replied  with  a  hand  wave.  He  was 
thinking  mainly  of  begonias,  planning  a  magi- 
cian's stroke,  because  his  new  master  had  told 
him  to  spare  no  expense.  Within  ten  minutes 
he  returned,  but  not  alone.  Four  able-bodied 
rustics  came  with  him,  each  carrying  a  spade 
or  a  garden  fork.  But  he  had  not  forgotten 
Armathwaite's  request. 

"Miss  Meg  hasn't  gone  that  way,  sir,"  he. 
said.  "Plenty  of  folk  saw  her  in  t'  garden,  an' 
they  couldn't  ha'  missed  her  had  she  been  in  t' 
street.  But  she'll  be  comin'  i'  now.  No  fear 
o'  her  bein'  lost,  stolen,  or  strayed  i'  Elmdale. 
These  chaps  are  good  for  a  day's  diggin'  at 


250  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

four  shillin'  an'  two  quarts  o'  beer  each.    Is 
that  right,  sir?" 

"Make  it  five  shillings  and  no  beer,"  said 
Armathwaite. 

The  laborers  grinned. 

"No  beer  is  even  to  be  bought  during  work- 
ing hours,"  he  added  sharply.  "You  can  work 
harder  and  longer  on  tea.  You  may  have  all 
the  tea,  milk,  bread  and  cheese  you  want,  but 
not -a  drop  of  beer,  this  day  or  any  other  day, 
while  at  work  here.  I  know  what  I  am  talking 
about.  I  am  no  teetotal  fanatic,  but  I've  proved 
the  truth  of  that  statement  during  many  a  day 
of  more  trying  labor  than  digging  soft 
earth." 

The  terms  were  agreed  to  without  a  murmur. 
The  incident,  slight  as  it  was,  had  its  bearing 
on  the  day's  history.  Smith  was  leading  his 
cohort  to  the  attack,  when  one  of  the  men,  ap- 
parently bethinking  himself,  approached  Arma- 
thwaite and  touched  his  cap. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "but  was  ye 
axin'  about  Miss  Meg?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  seed  her  goin'  up  t'  moor  road  nigh 
on  half  an  hour  sen"  (since). 

The  Grange  itself  was  the  only  house  on  the 
moor  road  for  many  a  mile,  and  it  was  most 
unlikely  that  Marguerite  would  take  a  pro- 
tracted stroll  in  that  direction  at  such  an  hour. 


DE-US  EX  MACHINA  251 

Somehow,  Armathwaite  was  aware  of  a  chill 
in  the  air  which  he  had  not  felt  earlier.  It  was 
his  habit  to  disregard  those  strange  glimpses 
of  coming  events,  generally  of  misfortune, 
which  men  call  premonitions.  When  confronted 
by  accomplished  facts,  he  acted  as  honor  and 
experience  dictated;  for  the  rest,  he  said,  with 
Miiton — 

"  I  argue  not 

Against  Heaven's  hand  or  will,  nor  bate  a  jot 
Of  heart  and  hope;  but  still  bear  up  and  steer 
Right  onward." 

But  this  all-sufficing  rule  of  conduct  had 
availed  him  little  from  the  moment  he  crossed 
the  threshold  of  the  Grange.  Right  well  had  it 
served  him  in  the  strenuous  years  of  vigilant 
governance  now  so  remote;  since  his  coming 
to  Elmdale  he  seemed  ever  to  be  striving 
against  shapeless  phantoms.  He  had  sought 
quiet  and  content  in  that  peaceful-looking  vil- 
lage ;  he  had  found  only  care  and  gnawing  fore- 
boding, brightened,  it  is  true,  by  a  day-dream, 
which  itself  left  bitter  communing  when  it 
waned.  For  he  was  his  own  severest  censor. 
He  regarded  himself  as  one  already  in  the  sere 
and  yellow  leaf.  Fortune  had  called  him  to  the 
high  places  only  to  cast  him  forth  discredited, 
if  not  humbled.  That  he,  a  man  who  believed 
he  had  done  with  the  great  world,  should  think 
of  allying  his  shattered  life  with  the  sweet  and 


252  TEE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

winsome  creature  whose  feminine  charm  was 
enhanced  by  a  frank  girlishness,  was  a  tan- 
talizing prospect  which,  like  the  mirage  in  a 
desert,  merged  with  the  arid  wastes  when  sub- 
jected to  close  scrutiny.  With  Marguerite 
near,  reason  fled,  and  all  things  seemed  pos- 
sible ;  when  the  thrall  of  her  presence  was  with- 
drawn, cold  judgment  warned  him  that  grati- 
tude for  help  rendered  should  not  be  mistaken 
for  love. 

He  felt  now  that  another  crisis  had  arisen, 
yet  the  past  yielded  no  ray  of  guidance.  He 
glared  at  the  poor  laborer  who,  all  uncon- 
sciously, was  fate's  herald  in  this  new  adver- 
sity, for  he  was  instantly  aware,  without  other 
spoken  word,  that  Marguerite  Ogilvey  had  fled. 
The  man's  troubled  face  showed  that  he  feared 
he  had  done  wrong. 

"I'm  main  sorry,  sir,"  said  he,  "if  I've 
said  owt  te  vex  ye,  but,  hearin'  the  talk  of 
Miss  Meg,  I  thought— 

Armathwaite 's  drawn  features  relaxed,  and 
he  placed  a  friendly  hand  on  the  villager's 
shoulder. 

"You've  done  right,"  he  said.  "I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you.  I  have  a  stupid  habit  of 
allowing  my  mind  to  wander.  Just  then  I  was 
thinking  of  something  wholly  unconnected  with 
Miss  Garth's  disappearance,  which  will  arouse 
Mrs.  Jackson's  wrath  because  of  bacon  and 


DEUS  EX  MACHINA  253 

eggs  frizzled  to  a  cinder.  I  must  go  and  con- 
dole with  her." 

He  was  turning  to  re-enter  the  house,  mainly 
to  set  at  rest  any  suspicion  that  Marguerite's 
absence  arose  from  other  cause  than  sheer 
forgetfulness,  when  the  clang  of  the  gate 
stayed  him.  A  youth  had  dismounted  from 
a  bicycle,  and  was  hastening  up  the  path  with 
an  air  of  brisk  importance. 

"Telegrams  for  Garth  and  Whittaker,"  he 
said.  "Any  answer,  sir?" 

Armathwaite  took  the  two  buff  envelopes 
which  the  lad  produced  from  a  leather  pouch. 

"Have  you  come  from  Bellerby?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  wait  a  few  minutes.  There  may  be 
some  reply." 

He  went  into  the  dining-room.  So  sure  was 
he  that  Marguerite  had  gone  away  that  he  had 
not  the  slightest  hesitation  about  opening  the 
telegram  addressed  to  "Garth,  The  Grange, 
Elmdale."  As  he  anticipated,  it  was  from 
Mrs.  Ogilvey.  It  had  been  dispatched  at 
seven  o'clock  from  Tavistock,  and  read: 

"Arriving  to-night  if  possible.  Don't 
take  any  action  until  I  am  with  you. — 
MOTHER." 

The  early  hour  at  which  it  had  been  sent 


254  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

off — from  a  town,  too,  which  he  rightly  esti- 
mated as  a  good  many  miles  distant  from  War- 
leggan,  showed  that  Mrs.  Suarez  had  con- 
trived to  get  a  telegram  through  to  Cornwall 
the  previous  night,  so  Percy  Whittaker's  mis- 
chievous interference  had  proved  quite  suc- 
cessful. 

Then,  with  lightning  clarity  came  the  belief 
that  Percy  Whittaker  was  responsible  for 
Marguerite's  flight.  Armathwaite  scouted  the 
notion  that  she  had  such  a  thing  in  her  mind 
when  she  came  to  him  in  the  garden.  Her 
nature  was  incapable  of  guile.  Had  she 
formed  some  fantastic  scheme  during  the 
watches  of  the  night  she  would  never  have 
put  her  troubles  aside  to  share  in  his  light- 
hearted  planning  of  a  new  and  glorified  gar- 
den. In  fact,  he  recalled  her  sudden  dismay 
because  of  her  seeming  neglect  of  the  invalid, 
and  now  he  knew  that  he  had  not  seen  her 
since  she  went  upstairs,  whereas  Whittaker 
himself  had  sent  more  than  one  urgent  sum- 
mons for  her  subsequently. 

Stifling  his  fury  as  best  he  might,  Armath- 
waite hurried  to  Whittaker's  room. 

"A  telegram  has  just  come  for  you,"  he 
said,  and  watched  the  younger  man's  face  as 
he  read.  It  was  a  long  screed,  and  evidently 
bored  its  recipient. 

"Oh,  it's  only  from  my  sister,"  came  the 


DEUS  EX  MACHINA  255 

languid  explanation.  "By  the  way,  where 's 
Miss  Garth?" 

"Gone,  I  think." 

"Gone!"  Whittaker  rose  on  an  elbow  and 
glowered  at  Armathwaite.  "What  the  devil 
do  you  mean  by  'gone'?  Where  has  she  gone 
to?"  he  cried. 

"I  want  you  to  answer  that  question,"  and 
Armathwaite 's  voice  was  strangely  harsh  and 
threatening.  "She  came  to  you  half  an  hour 
ago.  Did  you  say  anything  likely  to  distress 
her?  Tell  me  the  truth,  or  I'll  pound  your 
face  to  a  jelly." 

His  aspect  had  suddenly  become  so  menac- 
ing that  Whittaker  wilted ;  his  head  sank  back 
to  the  pillow,  and  his  eyelids  twitched  with 
fright. 

"That's  no  way  to  talk "  he  began,  but 

the  other  seized  him  by  the  shoulder  with  his 
left  hand  and  clenched  his  right  fist  suggest- 
ively. 

"You  think  I  ought  not  to  threaten  you  with 
violence  because  you  are  lying  there  help- 
less," was  the  savage  interruption;  "but,  if 
you  have  not  forgotten  the  ways  of  Ind,  you 
must  know  that  a  poisonous  snake  is  never  so 
venomous  as  when  disabled.  Speak,  now,  and 
speak  truthfully,  or,  as  sure  as  God  is  in 
heaven,  I'll  strike!" 

There  was  no  withstanding  the  set  purpose 


256  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

revealed  by  those  blazing  eyes,  and  Whittaker 
was  so  alarmed  that  he  dared  not  attempt  to 
lie. 

"I — I've  asked  Meg — half  a  dozen  times— 
to  marry  me,"  he  stuttered,  "and  this  morn- 
ing— I  told  her — she'd  have  to  consent — now." 

"Why  now?"  and  the  fierce  grip  tightened, 
drawing  the  livid  face  nearer. 

"Because — she  must." 

"Explain  yourself,  you  dog!" 

"I — I  was  afraid  of  your  influence,  so  I 
warned  her — that  if— she  wanted  to  save  her 
father.  .  .  .  Ah!  Let  go!  Curse  you,  let 
go!  You're  breaking  my  bones!" 

That  eldritch  scream  restored  Armathwaite  's 
senses.  It  startled  the  men  in  the  garden.  It 
brought  Mrs.  Jackson  and  Betty  running  from 
the  kitchen.  Happily,  Armathwaite  struck  no 
blow.  He  flung  off  Whittaker 's  limp  body  as 
though  he  were,  indeed,  one  of  the  vicious  rep- 
tiles to  which  he  had  compared  him. 

"You  sug!"  he  breathed,  using  the  bitterest 
term  of  contempt  known  to  the  East,  for  the 
Persian  word  means  all  that  the  Anglo-Saxon 
implies  when  he  likens  a  fellow-creature  to  a 
dog,  with  the  added  force  of  an  epithet  which 
signifies  "dog"  in  that  despicable  sense,  and 
in  none  other. 

Striding  down  the  stairs,  his  fire-laden 
glance  met  the  ghastly  smile  of  the  painted 


DEUS  EX  MACHINA  257 

figure.  With  an  active  bound,  he  was  on  the 
window  ledge,  and  the  clenched  fist  which  had 
ached  to  scatter  some  of  the  hapless  Percy's 
features  fell  heavily  on  the  scowling  face  in 
the  window.  The  glass,  which  proved  exceed- 
ingly thin  and  brittle,  shivered  into  countless 
fragments  within  and  without,  and  the  inner 
sheet  of  transparent  paper  was  so  dry  and 
tense  that  it  shriveled  instantly  when  exposed 
to  the  air.  Indeed,  Armathwaite,  despite  his 
rage,  was  aware  of  a  peculiar  sensation.  It 
seemed  as  though  he  had  struck  at  something 
impalpable  as  air.  His  hand  was  not  cut.  It 
appeared  to  have  touched  nothing.  He  thrust 
straight  and  hard,  and  the  only  evidence  of 
his  destroying  zeal  was  a  quantity  of  powdered 
glass  on  the  landing,  some  curled  wisps  of 
paper  adhering  to  the  leaden  frame,  and  an 
oval  of  blue  sky  shining  through  the  visor. 

As  he  leaped  to  the  floor  again,  Mrs.  Jack- 
son reached  the  center  of  the  hall.  She 
screeched  frantically,  thinking  that  the  Black 
Prince  himself  was  springing  from  the  win- 
dow. But  she  was  a  stout-hearted  old  woman, 
and  quickly  recovered  her  wits  when  she  saw 
what  Armathwaite  had  done. 

"They've  long  wanted  a  man  i'  this  house!'* 
she  cried,  in  a  voice  that  cracked  with  excite- 
ment, "and  it's  glad  I  am  te  see  they've  got- 
ten yan  at  last!  Eh,  sir,  ye  med  me  jump! 


258  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

Ye  did  an'  all!  But  ye '11  never  rue  t'  day 
when  ye  punched  a  hole  in  t'  feace  o'  that 
image  of  Owd  Nick!" 

By  this  time  Smith  and  his  helpers,  aware 
that  something  unusual  was  going  on  inside 
the  house,  were  gathered  at  the  front  door, 
Which  had  remained  wide  open  since  the  early 
morning. 

"Listen,  all  of  you!"  said  Armathwaite, 
addressing  the  two  women  and  five  men  as 
though  they  were  an  army  and  he  their  em- 
peror. "I  am  master  here,  and  I  expect  you 
to  obey  my  orders.  I  am  going  out  now,  and 
I  may  be  away  some  hours,  possibly  all  day. 
You,  Smith,  must  put  a  padlock  and  chain  on 
the  gate  and  refuse  to  open  it  for  anyone  ex- 
cept Dr.  Scaife  and  a  nurse.  You,  Mrs.  Jack- 
son, must  keep  the  doors  locked  while  I  am 
gone,  and  let  no  one  enter,  excepting,  as  I 
have  told  Smith,  Dr.  Scaife  and  the  nurse  who 
will  accompany  him.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  you,  Smith?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Betty,  put  some  thin  slices  of  bread  and 
meat  between  two  small  plates,  and  tie  them 
in  a  napkin.  Fill  a  bottle  with  milk.  Quick! 
I  have  no  time  to  lose." 

He  turned  to  the  gaping  boy  who  had 
brought  the  telegrams  from  Bellerby. 


DEUS  EX  MACHINA  259 

"Did  you  ride  here  on  your  own  bicycle?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Is  it  a  strong  machine!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Lend  it  to  me  for  the  day,  and  I'll  give 
you  a  sovereign." 

"Right  you  are,  sir!"  came  the  hearty  re- 
sponse. "Is  there  anything  to  go  back  to  the 
post  office?" 

"Nothing.  Raise  the  saddle  of  your  bicycle, 
and  see  that  the  tires  are  in  good  order. 
Here's  your  money." 

In  an  incredibly  short  time  Armathwaite  was 
pushing  the  bicycle  up  the  steep  road  to  the 
moor.  He  walked  with  long,  swinging  strides, 
and  was  soon  lost  to  sight,  because  the  trees 
behind  the  Grange  hid  the  highway  from  any 
part  of  the  house  or  grounds,  and  no  one 
dared  risk  his  wrath  by  going  out  into  the 
road  to  watch  him. 

He  climbed  swiftly  yet  steadily,  and  con- 
quered the  worst  part  of  the  hill  in  fifteen 
minutes.  Then  he  mounted  the  bicycle,  and 
got  over  the  ground  rapidly.  Thus,  within 
less  than  an  hour  after  Marguerite  Ogilvey 
had  escaped  from  the  Grange — in  the  first  in- 
stance by  taking  refuge  in  her  bedroom,  arid, 
while  Betty  was  talking  to  Whittaker,  by 
slipping  downstairs  and  climbing  through  a 


260  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

window  in  the  library — Armathwaite  saw  her 
— a  lonely  figure  in  that  far-flung  moorland, 
walking  in  the  direction  of  Leyburn. 

Apparently,  she  had  grabbed  her  hat  and 
mackintosh  coat  when  passing  through  the 
hall,  and  was  carrying  them,  because  the  sun 
was  glinting  in  her  coils  of  brown  hair.  No 
stranger  who  met  her  would  take  her  for  other 
than  a  summer  visitor.  Certainly,  no  one 
would  guess  the  storm  of  grief  and  terror 
that  raged  in  her  heart. 

The  bicycle  sped  along  with  a  silent  speed 
that  soon  lessened  the  distance  between  the 
two.  Armathwaite  did  not  wish  to  startle  her 
by  a  too  sudden  appearance,  so  he  rang  the 
bell  when  yet  fifty  yards  in  the  rear. 

She  turned  instantly.  When  she  saw  who 
the  pursuer  was,  she  stopped.  Neither  spoke 
until  Armathwaite  had  alighted,  and  the  two 
had  exchanged  a  long  and  questioning  look. 

Then  she  said: 

"I'm  going  to  my  father.  My  place  is  with 
him.  He  must  be  hidden  somewhere.  I  dare 
not  wait  until  my  mother  came  or  wrote.  I'm 
sorry,  Bob.  I  could  not  even  explain,  though 
I  should  have  telegraphed  from  York.  Please 
don't  ask  me  to  say  any  more,  or  try  to  de- 
tain me." 

"Any  explanation  is  unnecessary,"  he  said, 
smiling  gravely  into  the  sweet  face  with  its 


DEUS  EX  MACH1NA  261 

aspect  of  unutterable  pain.  "I  squeezed  the 
facts  out  of  Percy  Whittaker.  I'm  afraid  I 
hurt  him,  but  that  is  immaterial." 

"You  made  him  tell  you  what  he  said  to 
me?"  and  the  brown  eyes  momentarily  lost 
their  wistfulness  in  a  whirl  of  surprise  and 
maidenly  dismay. 

"Yes." 

"Everything — even  his  threat?" 

"Everything." 

"Oh,  Bob!  What  am  I  to  do?  I  must  go 
to  dad!" 

"Undoubtedly;  but  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  walk  fourteen  miles  practically  with- 
out food.  I've  brought  some  breakfast — of 
a  sort.  We'll  go  shares — half  the  sandwiches 
and  half  the  milk.  Then  you'll  ride  on  the 
step  of  the  bike  when  the  road  permits,  and 
trudge  the  remainder,  and  we'll  be  in  Leyburn 
in  half  the  time  it  would  take  you  to  walk. 
Here  are  the  eatables,  and  this  is  just  the 
place  for  a  picnic." 

He  spoke  and  behaved  in  such  a  matter-of- 
fact  way  that  he  almost  persuaded  the  be- 
wildered girl  that  her  conduct,  and  his,  and 
Percy  Whittaker 's  was  ruled  and  regulated  by 
every-day  conditions.  Placing  the  bicycle  by 
the  roadside,  he  produced  the  package  pre- 
pared by  Betty,  and  was  uncorking  the  milk 
when  a  strangled  sob  caught  his  ear. 


262  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

Marguerite  had  turned  to  hide  her  face,  for 
a  rush  of  emotion  had  proved  too  much  for 
her  self-control.  Laying  the  bottle  on  a  bank 
of  turf,  he  caught  the  girl's  shoulder,  and 
turned  her  gently  until  her  swimming  eyes 
met  his. 

" There's  nothing  to  be  gained  by  hailing 
trouble  half  way,  Meg,"  he  saicl.  "I  don't 
wish  to  hide  my  belief  that  you  are  faced  with 
conditions  of  a  most  extraordinary  nature, 
but  I  am  convinced  that  they  will  shape  them- 
selves differently  to  any  forecast  we  can  ar- 
rive at  now.  I  followed  you  for  two  reasons. 
I  wanted  you  to  begin  a  long  journey  better 
prepared  than  was  possible  after  flight  on  a 
moment's  notice,  and  I  did  not  want  you  to 
go  away  thinking  I  was  in  ignorance  of  your 
motives.  I  can  tell  you  here  and  now  that 
you  will  save  your  father,  if  his  position  is 
such  that  he  needs  safe-guarding;  further,  you 
will  never  be  compelled  to  marry  Percy  Whit- 
taker." 

"Bob,"  she  whispered  brokenly.  "I  would 
rather  die!" 

Then  Armathwaite  flung  restraint  to  the 
winds.  He  gathered  her  in  his  arms,  and 
lifted  the  tear-stained  face  to  his. 

"Sweetheart,"  he  said,  "in  the  midst  of 
such  madness,  let  you  and  me  be  sane.  I  love 
you!  You  are  the  only  woman  I  have  ever 


DEUS  EX  MACniNA  263 

loved.  If  I  am  allowed  by  Providence  to  begin 
life  once  more,  you  are  the  only  woman  I  shall 
ever  love.  You  were  brought  to  me  by  a 
kindly  fate,  and  I  refuse  to  let  you  go  now 
without  telling  you  that  you  carry  my  heart 
with  you.  I  ask  for  no  answer  at  this  moment. 
Some  day  in  the  future,  when  the  clouds  have 
lifted  from  your  young  life,  I'll  come  to  you — " 

But  Marguerite  gave  him  her  answer  then. 
Lifting  herself  on  tip-toe,  she  kissed  him  on 
the  lips. 

"Bob,"  she  said  tremulously,  "I  think  I 
knew  you  were  my  chosen  mate,  if  God  willed 
it,  when  we  parted  on  that  first  night  in  the 
Grange. ' ' 

That  first  night!  It  was  hardly  thirty-six 
hours  ago,  yet  these  two  had  crowded  into  that 
brief  space  more  tribulation  than  many  lovers 
undergo  in  a  lifetime ;  and  sorrow  knits  hearts 
more  closely  and  lastingly  than  joy. 

Armathwaite  could  hardly  credit  the  evid- 
ence of  his  senses.  He  had  come  to  regard 
himself  as  so  immeasurably  older  than  this 
delightful  girl  that  it  seemed  wildly  improbable 
that  she  could  return  the  almost  hopeless  love 
which  had  sprung  into  sudden  and  fierce  acti- 
vity in  his  breast.  Yet,  here  she  was,  lying 
snug  in  his  embrace,  and  gazing  up  at  him 
with  glistening  eyes,  her  lips  distended,  her 
arms  clasping  him,  her  heart  beating  tumul- 


264  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

tuously   in    the    first    transports    of    passion. 

He  kissed  her  again  and  again,  and  could 
have  held  her  there  seemingly  forever;  but 
they  were  driven  apart  by  a  curious  humming 
sound  which  bore  a  singular  resemblance  to 
the  purr  of  a  powerful  automobile  climbing  a 
steep  hill. 

Marguerite  disengaged  herself  from  her 
lover's  embrace  with  a  flushing  self-conscious- 
ness that  was,  in  itself,  vastly  attractive. 

"Bob,"  she  murmured,  stooping  to  pick  up 
a  fallen  hat  and  mackintosh,  "miracles  are 
happening.  Here  are  you  and  I  forgetting  a 
world  in  which  evil  things  find  a  place,  and 
here  is  a  motor-car  crossing  Elmdale  moor 
for  the  first  time  in  history." 

"It  would  not  surprise  me  in  the  least  if 
the  visitant  proved  to  be  a  flying-machine," 
he  laughed,  finding  it  hard  to  withdraw  his 
ardent  gaze  from  those  flushed  cheeks  and 
that  tangled  mass  of  brown  hair. 

But  the  insistent  drumming  of  an  engine 
grew  ever  louder,  and  soon  a  long,  low-built 
touring  car  swept  into  view  over  the  last  un- 
dulation. Apparently,  it  was  untenanted  save 
by  a  chauffeur,  and  Armathwaite 's  brain,  re- 
covering its  balance  after  a  whirl  of  delirium, 
was  beginning  to  guess  at  a  possible  explana- 
tion of  this  strange  occurrence,  when  the  car 
slowed  as  it  neared  them,  and  finally  halted. 


DEUS  EX  MACHINA  265 

"Are  you  Mr.  Armathwaite,  sir?"  inquired 
the  chauffeur. 

"Yes." 

The  man  lifted  his  cap. 

"This  is  the  car  you  ordered  from  York 
last  night,  sir." 

"How  thoughtful  of  you  to  follow!'*  cried 
Armathwaite,  overjoyed  by  this  quite  unex- 
pected bit  of  good  fortune.  He  had  not  only 
forgotten  that  the  car  was  on  order — an  im- 
pulse of  the  moment  when  he  realized  how  tied 
he  and  all  others  were  to  the  house  if  any- 
thing in  the  nature  of  a  sudden  and  rapid 
journey  came  on  the  tapis— but,  in  any  event, 
he  had  not  looked  for  its  arrival  before  mid- 
day, and  the  hour  was  yet  barely  ten  o'clock. 

"Your  servants  thought  you  might  need  me, 
sir,"  explained  the  man,  "so  I  came  after 
you.  It's  a  scorcher  of  a  road  for  the  first 
mile,  but  the  rest  isn't  so  bad,  if  it  keeps  in 
the  same  condition." 

Now,  what  had  actually  happened  was  this. 
The  chauffeur  had  reached  the  Grange  about 
twenty  minutes  after  Armathwaite 's  depar- 
ture. At  that  moment  Smith  was  chaining 
and  padlocking  the  gate,  but  Betty  heard  the 
snorting  of  the  car,  and  came  to  find  out  its 
cause. 

When  the  chauffeur  told  her  that  he  was 
there  in  response  to  an  order,  the  quick-witted 


266  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

girl  told  him  to  hurry  up  the  moor  road.    He 
looked  at  it,  and  grinned. 

"What!  Take  a  valuable  machine  over  a 
track  like  that!  Not  me!"  he  said. 

"Can't  it  go  there!"  she  inquired. 

"It  can  go  anywhere,  for  that  matter." 

"Are  you  afraid,  then?" 

"Afraid  of  what?  D'ye  think  I  want  to 
twist  an  axle  or  smash  a  wheel?" 

Then  one  of  the  laboring  men  joined  in. 

"I  reckon  you  don't  know  t'  maister,"  he 
said.  "He  wouldn't  care  a  pin  if  you  smashed 
yourself,  but  you've  got  to  obey  orders.  He's 
one  of  the  sort  who  has  his  own  way.  Good 
pay,  no  beer,  an'  hard  work  is  his  motter.  It. 
is,  an'  all." 

Between  maid  and  man,  the  chauffeur  de- 
cided to  risk  it.  When  all  was  said  and  done, 
it  would  be  a  bad  beginning  in  a  new  job  if  the 
servants  reported  his  refusal  to  follow  on. 

"Is  he  far  ahead?"  he  inquired. 

"Mebbe  a  mile  over  t'  top." 

Starting  the  engine  on  the  switch,  he  put 
the  car  at  the  hill,  and,  like  many  another  dif- 
ficulty, it  was  not  insurmountable  when  tackled 
boldly.  So,  behold!  A  comfortable  and  easy 
way  was  opened  to  Leyburn,  at  any  rate,  and 
Armathwaite  laughed  gayly. 

"Now  we'll  breakfast,  and  discuss,"  said  he. 
"The  gods  have  sent  us  a  chariot!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN   WHICH  THE   ABEA  WIDENS 

IF  any  critic,  on  perusing  this  chronicle,  is 
moved  to  peevish  condemnation  of  Armath- 
waite's  amazing  conduct  that  morning,  the 
man  himself  would  be  the  last  to  protest.  He 
might  urge  that  he  was  dazzled  by  the  new 
and  entrancing  realm  whose  bright  waters 
and  fair  meads  he  could  discern  beyond  the 
present  rough  and  dangerous  ground.  He 
might  plead  the  literal  truth — that  when  he 
went  in  pursuit  of  Marguerite  Ogilvey  he  had 
no  more  intention  of  declaring  his  love  than 
of  hastening  to  Dover  and  endeavoring  forth- 
with to  swim  the  English  Channel.  But,  mak- 
ing every  allowance  for  a  confirmed  celibate 
who  had  suddenly  become  a  devout  lover,  and 
to  whose  arms  the  lady  of  his  choice  had  com- 
mitted herself  without  any  pretense  of  re- 
straint, it  must  still  be  admitted  that  he  was 
guilty  of  a  most  singular  omission  in  failing 
to  make  known  to  her  his  very  identity! 

He  remembered  the  phenomenal  lapse  when 
to'o  late.  Even  to  that  practical  side  of  his 
character  which  reproached  the  emotional  side 

267 


268  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

with  a  ridiculous  forgetfulness,  he  could  only 
say,  in  mitigation  of  sentence,  that  the  sudden 
appearance  of  the  car  brought  about  such  a 
novel  situation  that  all  else  yielded  to  the  need 
for  prompt  and  skillful  judgment  in  deciding 
Marguerite's  immediate  future. 

It  was  all  the  more  difficult  to  think  logic- 
ally and  act  decisively  when  Marguerite  her- 
self, ever  and  anon,  was  lifting  adorably  shy 
eyes  to  his  while  the  two  were  making  the 
best  of  the  unusual  meal  he  had  provided. 
There,  nevertheless,  within  a  few  feet,  stood 
the  obedient  giant  whose  stout  mechanism  ren- 
dered many  things  possible  that  were  hitherto 
impossible.  The  chauffeur,  who  gave  his 
name  as  Storr,  had  taken  off  the  bonnet  for 
a  critical  glance  at  the  six  cylinders  which  had 
forced  nearly  two  tons  of  metal  and  wood  up 
the  stony  and  rutted  surface  of  one  of  the 
worst  moorland  tracks  in  Yorkshire.  He 
seemed  to  be  more  than  satisfied.  The  water 
in  the  radiator  had  got  rather  excited,  but 
that  was  only  to  be  expected.  A  close  eye 
was  given  to  other  essentials,  and  the  tire 
covers  were  examined,  but  every  part  of  the 
car  had  withstood  the  strain  of  a  fearsome 
hill  splendidly. 

Storr  had  never  doubted,  but,  like  a  prudent 
general,  he  reviewed  his  forces  after  the  en- 
gagement, and  found  them  not  only  intact,  but 


IN  WHICH  THE  AREA  WIDENS    269 

ready  for  mightier  deeds.  Then,  merely  to 
gratify  the  sense  of  touch,  as  a  horseman 
strokes  a  willing  and  well-groomed  steed,  he 
fingered  a  tap  or  two,  shut  off  the  engine,  and 
asked  Armathwaite  if  he  might  smoke  a 
cigarette  while  awaiting  further  orders. 

His  employer  thanked  him  for  the  word. 
It  recalled  the  motive  of  Marguerite's  flight. 
Some  plan  of  action  must  be  arrived  at,  and 
without  delay. 

"Smoke,  by  all  means,"  he  said,  summing 
up  the  man  at  a  glance  as  a  bluff  and  honest 
sort  of  follow  who  would  be  thoroughly 
dependable  if  properly  handled.  "How 
long  did  the  run  from  York  to  Elmdale 
take?" 

"A  little  more  than  two  hours,  sir.  I 
started  at  half-past  seven.  Your  telegram 
said  I  was  to  arrive  by  noon,  but  our  people 
thought  they'd  please  a  new  customer  by  bein* 
a  bit  afore  time.  They  didn't  wire,  because 
the  car  would  be  to  hand  almost  as  quick  as 
a  telegram." 

"Can  you  go  from  Leyburn  to  York  in  two 
hours?" 

"Easily,  sir." 

"Very  well.  Just  pull  your  machine  a  few 
yards  ahead,  and  Miss  Ogilvey  and  I  will 
discuss  the  day's  program." 

Storr  obeyed,  and  Armathwaite  outlined  to 


270  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

a  willing  listener  the  project  he  had  already 
formed. 

"First,"  he  said,  "here  is  a  telegram  from 
your  mother.  I  opened  it.  I  thought  it  was 
best " 

"Why,  of  course,  Bob  dear;  why  shouldn't 
you?" 

Bob  dear !  It  was  very  pleasant  to  hear  the 
phrase  on  Marguerite's  lips,  yet  it  rendered 
doubly  distasteful  the  suggestion  he  had  in 
mind;  since  where  is  the  lover  who  will  bring 
himself  willingly  to  the  task  of  telling  his 
lady-love  that  they  must  part?  But  it  had  to 
be  done.  Marguerite  must  go — not  quite  so 
far  as  Cornwall,  it  is  true,  but  much  too 
far  to  please  him,  and  he  must  return  to 
the  Grange,  where,  a  sure  instinct  warned 
him,  weighty  matters  would  be  settled  that 
day. 

A  cry  of  dismay  from  the  girl  gave  him  the 
cue  he  wanted. 

"Oh,  she  has  started  already!"  she  almost 
sobbed.  "While  I  was  flying  to  Warleggan 
she  is  traveling  North.  We  shall  pass  each 
other  on  the  way!" 

"No,"  he  said,  "that  must  not  happen. 
You  are  going  to  be  a  good  little  sweetheart, 
and  do  as  I  tell  you.  This  most  excellent  and 
comfortable  car  will  take  you  to  York.  There 
you  will  ascertain  from  an  obliging  station- 


IN  WHICH  THE  AREA  WIDENS    271 

master  what  time  Mrs.  Ogilvey  can  arrive  from 
Tavistock,  assuming  she  left  there  at  or  about 
the  hour  stated  in  the  message,  and  you  '11  meet 
her.  At  a  rough  guess,  Mrs.  Ogilvey  should 
be  in  York  about  six  o'clock.  You'll  escort 
her  to  the  station  hotel,  give  her  something 
to  eat,  and  calmly  discuss  the  whole  affair 
while  the  same  luxurious  automobile  is  bring- 
ing you  back  to  Elmdale." 

"But,  what  of  the  danger  dad  may  be  in?" 
"I  am  coming  to  that.  I  believe,  somehow, 
that  your  mother  will  relieve  your  mind  in 
that  respect.  Remember,  I  have  always  held, 
since  the  main  features  of  this  extraordinary 
affair  became  clear,  that  your  father  has  acted 
throughout  with  his  wife's  cognizance,  if  not 
with  her  complete  approval.  Now,  if  that  is 
so,  she  is  the  one  person  who  can  decide 
whether  you  return  with  her  to  Elmdale  or 
hasten  through  the  night  to  Warleggan.  Again 
hazarding  a  guess,  I  don't  think  you  could 
reach  your  father  to-night,  even  though  you 
caught  the  first  available  train  from  York. 
Cornwall  is  a  long  way  from  Yorkshire.  By 
starting  this  minute,  you  might  be  in  York 
by  one  o'clock.  Allowing  eleven  hours  for  the 
journey,  an  estimate  I  am  doubtful  about,  you 
would  arrive  at  Tavistock  at  midnight,  whereas 
it  is  highly  probable  there  is  no  such  train, 
nor  one  so  rapid.  By  the  way,  why,  do  you 


272  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

think,  did  Mrs.  Qgilvey  telegraph  from  Tavi- 
stock?" 

"She  would  drive  there — some  twelve  miles. 
No  telegram  could  be  dispatched  from  War- 
leggan  before  the  post  office  opened  at  eight." 

"She  may  have  had  an  even  more  powerful 
reason.  The  message  is  sent  to  'Garth,'  not 
to  'Ogilvey.'  Isn't  it  quite  rational  to  suppose 
that  she  hopes  no  one  in  Elmdale  knows  about 
the  change  of  name?" 

"Yes,"  said  Meg,  trying  to  look  calmly 
judicial.  "That  sounds  reasonable." 

' '  Then  every  consideration  points  to  the  wis- 
dom of  awaiting  your  mother  at  York." 

"But,  Bob  dear,  have  you  thought  of  the 
awful  result  if  Percy  carries  out  his  threat?" 

"Percy  will  not  do  anything  dramatic  to- 
day, I  promise  you.  I  have  scared  him  badly 
already,  and  I'm  going  back  now  with  the  full 
intent  that  he  shall  cause  no  more  mischief 
until  I  hear  from,  or  see,  Mrs.  Ogilvey  and 
yourself,  or  one  of  you.  Perhaps,  to  relieve 
my  anxiety,  you  will  send  a  message  from  York 
announcing  your  decision?" 

"Yes;  I'll  do  that.  You  are  really  con- 
vinced that  I  ought  to  meet  mother?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it." 

"Then  you  can  trust  me.  I'll  do  as  you  say. 
You  needn't  have  any  fear  that  between  here 
and  York  I'll  change  my  mind.  Bob,  you  be- 


IN  WHICH  THE  AREA  WIDENS    273 

lieve  me,  don't  you,  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
ran  away  this  morning  because  I  dared  not 
take  you  into  my  confidence?  I  could  not 
bring  myself  to  explain  the  true  meaning  of 
Percy's  horrid  insinuations." 

"Please,  forget  Percy.    I'll  deal  with  him." 

"But  you  won't  be  too  angry  with  him!  It 
is  hard  to  endure,  I  know,  that  he  should  play 
on  his  defenseless  state,  but,  if  he  were  quite 
well  and  uninjured,  he  could  offer  you  no  re- 
sistance." 

He  laughed.  The  notion  of  Percy  Whittaker 
and  himself  engaging  in  a  desperate  conflict 
for  physical  supremacy  was  intensely  amus- 
ing. 

"If  you  mean  that  I  am  not  to  assault  him, 
I  promise  that  with  all  my  heart,"  he  said. 
"I  gripped  him  rather  strenuously  an  hour 
ago,  I  admit,  but  then  I  was  angry  with  him. 
Now  I  feel  that  I  owe  him  a  deep  debt  of 
gratitude,  because  he  has  brought  to  pass 
something  which  I  hardly  dared  dream  of. 
Don't  you  see,  dearest,  that  if  Percy  hadn't 
behaved  meanly  to  you  I  shouldn't  now  be 
calling  you  dearest,  and  wishing  that  our 
sharp-eyed  chauffeur  were  anywhere  else  in 
the  wide  world  but  where  he  is.  Now,  no 
more  words,  but  deeds!  Off  you  go  to  York! 
What  money  have  you?" 

"Plenty." 


274  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"What  do  you  call  plenty?" 

"Dad  gave  me  fifteen  pounds  when  I  left 
home,  and  I've  spent  less  than  five." 

"Well,  then,  sweetheart,  it  is  good-by  till 
this  evening." 

"Oh,  Bob  darling,  I  shall  pray  that  it  may 
be  so!" 

Storr  received  his  orders  without  lifting  an 
eyelid,  which  was  highly  creditable  to  him, 
having  regard  to  the  peculiar  conditions  under 
which  he  had  met  his  employer.  Of  course, 
he  was  ignorant  of  the  state  of  affairs  at  the 
Grange.  He  imagined  that  Mr.  Armathwaite 
was  escorting  a  young  lady  over  the  moor  to 
Leyburn,  which  was  a  funny  way  to  reach 
York,  when  Nuttonby  lay  on  a  better  road, 
which  was  also  the  more  direct  route.  But 
there  was  nothing  unusual  in  the  fact  that  he 
should  be  taking  Miss  Ogilvey  to  meet  her 
mother,  while  the  car  would  make  light  of  the 
three  journeys. 

"You'd  better  have  this,  sir,  and  see  if  it's 
right,"  he  said,  giving  Armathwaite  a  note. 
A  glance  showed  that  it  dealt  with  terms  for 
the  hire  of  the  car. 

"Tell  your  people  it  is  quite  satisfactory," 
said  Armathwaite,  and,  after  a  farewell  pres- 
sure of  Meg's  hand,  and  a  look  from  the 
brown  eyes  which  remained  with  him  like  a 
blessing,  the  car  started.  He  watched  until  it 


IN  WHICH  THE  AREA  WIDENS     27,". 

had  vanished  over  a  long  undulation  of  the 
road,  and  saw  the  last  flutter  of  Meg's  hand- 
kerchief ere  she  crossed  the  sky-line.  Then  he 
mounted  the  bicycle,  and  rode  swiftly  back  to 
the  tiny  hamlet  in  which,  during  two  short 
days,  he  had  passed  through  so  many  and  so 
much  varied  experiences. 

Looking  down  from  the  crest  of  the  hill  at 
the  sunlit  panorama  of  farm  and  field,  wood- 
land and  furze-grown  common,  with  Elmdale's 
cluster  of  homesteads  nestling  close  beneath 
the  moor,  and  the  spire  of  Bellerby  Church 
(near  which  lay  the  mortal  remains  of  "  Ste- 
phen Garth")  rising  above  a  cluster  of  elms 
in  the  middle  distance,  it  seemed  to  be  a  fan- 
tastic and  unreal  notion  that  so  many  of  life's 
evils,  so  much  of  its  beauty  and  happiness, 
could  have  found  full  scope  for  their  expres- 
sion in  that  tiny  and  remote  place. 

As  the  hill  was  too  dangerous  in  parts  to 
ride,  he  dismounted  twice.  He  was  about  to 
coast  down  the  last  straight  slope  to  the  house 
when  a  thought  struck  him  with  such  blind- 
ing force  that  he  nearly  lost  control  of  the 
bicycle.  Fool  that  he  was,  his  first  care  should 
have  been  to  tell  Marguerite  that  his  name 
was  not  Armathwaite;  that  he  had  adopted  an 
incognito  simply  to  avoid  the  prying  eyes  and 
inquisitive  tongues  of  those  with  whom  he 
might  be  brought  in  contact ;  that,  in  marrying 


276    THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

him,  she  was  stepping  forth  from  the  seclusion 
of  a  student's  retreat  into  the  full  glare  of 
public  life.  Oh,  the  deuce  take  all  complica- 
tions and  worries!  He  had  won  Marguerite 
by  extraordinary  means — he  must  do  his  woo- 
ing in  more  orthodox  manner,  and  in  his  true 
colors. 

He  was  traveling  at  a  rate  which  kept  pace 
with  the  tornado  in  his  mind,  but  the  second 
nature  brought  into  being  by  an  adventurous 
career  bent  a  watchful  eye  on  the  inequalities 
of  the  road,  so  that  he  was  actually  slowing 
up  somewhat  short  of  the  gate  leading  to  the 
Grange  garden  when  he  became  aware  of  an 
unusual  concourse  of  people  gathered  in  the 
roadway.  A  motor-car  and  two  dog-carts  were 
halted  near  the  gable  of  Mrs.  Jackson's  cot- 
tage, and  a  number  of  men— among  them  two 
in  police  uniform — who  seemed  to  have  col- 
lected into  a  chatting  group,  dissolved  into 
units  when  he  approached. 

He  recognized  a  groom  at  a  horse's  head  as 
Dr.  Scaife's  man;  all  the  others  were  total 
strangers. 

But  not  for  long. 

Sir  Berkeley  Hutton,  brought  to  Elmdale 
by  a  neighborly  curiosity  strengthened  by  the 
call  of  the  East,  appeared  to  be  overwhelmed 
with  surprise  at  sight  of  Armathwaite.  But 
the  worthy  baronet  did  not  lose  the  faculty 


IN  WHICH  THE  AREA  WIDENS    277 

of  speech.  No  conceivable  catastrophe,  short 
of  instant  death,  could  deprive  him  of  that. 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  he  cried,  advancing 
with  outstretched  hand.  "Baluchi  Bob!  The 
last  man  breathing  I  ever  expected  to  see  in 
Elmdale !  Did  the  monsoon  break  earlier  than 
usual  this  year,  or  what  wind  of  heaven  blew 
you  here?" 

"Hullo,  Barker!"  cried  Armathwaite,  hail- 
ing him  with  manifest  pleasure.  "I  didn't 
know  you  had  pitched  your  tent  in  these 
parts!" 

"Yes,  but,  dash  it  all,  Bob,  what's  the  game? 
They  told  me  someone  name  of  Armathwaite, 
in  the  Politicals,  had  taken  the  Grange." 

"Quite  true.  But  you  know  I  came  a  crop- 
per in  India,  and  I  was  a  bit  tired  of  the 
sturm  und  drang  of  existence,  so  I  hied  me  to 
cover  under  my  mother's  maiden  name.  I 
suppose  I  have  a  sort  of  right  to  it,  though 
it  doesn't  seem  to  have  proved  altogether  suc- 
cessful as  a  cloak." 

"By  gad!  I  can  hardly  agree  with  you 
there.  I  felt  as  though  I'd  come  a  purler  over 
wire  when  I  saw  Baluchi  Bob  dropping  off 
that  bicycle.  Great  Scott!  You  on  a  bike! 
How  have  the  mighty  fallen!  But  I'll  lend 
you  a  hack  till  you  collect  a  few  useful  screws, 
unless  you're  bitten  by  this  new  craze  for 
rushing  about  the  country  in  a  gastank.  And 


278  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

won't  Mollie  be  glad  to  see  you!  It  was  only 
the  other  day  she  was  talkin'  about  the  Pup, 
and  sayin'  that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you— 

"Oh,  tell  Mollie  to  forget  that  old  tale,  or 
she'll  make  me  nervous!" 

Each  word  exchanged  between  the  two  was 
heard  distinctly  by  the  others,  and,  such  is 
the  queer  way  in  which  the  affairs  of  life 
sometimes  take  an  unexpected  twist,  there  was 
a  marked  and  instant  change  of  attitude  on 
the  part  of  three  men,  at  least,  who  had  come 
to  Elmdale  that  day  prepared  to  treat  the 
Grange's  new  tenant  as  a  potential  criminal. 
Banks,  mouthpiece  of  the  Nuttonby  Gazette, 
who  had  bicycled  thither  in  the  hope  of  se- 
curing another  batch  of  readable  copy  for  a 
special  Saturday  edition,  suddenly  found  him- 
self reviewing,  with  a  sinking  heart,  one  or 
two  rather  ticklish  paragraphs  in  the  screed 
already  published  anent  "The  Elmdale  mys- 
tery." As  for  the  superintendent  and  in- 
spector of  police  from  Nuttonby,  they  forth- 
with recanted  certain  opinions  formed  after 
hearing  Banks 's  story  and  reading  the  current 
issue  of  his  newspaper. 

For  Sir  Berkeley  Hutton  was  a  county 
magnate,  chairman  of  the  Nuttonby  bench,  an 
alderman  of  the  County  Council,  a  Deputy 
Lieutenant,  and  goodness  knows  what  else  of 
a  power  in  civic  and  social  circles,  and  here 


IN  WHICH  THE  AREA  WIDENS     279 

was  he  hailing  this  stranger  as  an  intimate 
friend,  being  himself  greeted  by  the  nickname 
earned  by  a  loud  and  strident  utterance  which 
never  failed,  speaking  of  Lady  Hutton  as 
"Mollie,"  of  his  eldest  son  as  "the  Pup." 
County  police  and  country  editors  must  be 
chary  of  accepting  the  evidence  of  James 
Walkers  and  Tom  Elands  against  the  guaran- 
tee of  such  a  man,  or  they  may  get  their  corns 
trodden  on  most  painfully! 

All  at  once,  Sir  Berkeley  Hutton  seemed  to 
recollect  the  talk  which  had  been  going  on 
outside  the  locked  and  barred  gate,  for  Be- 
gonia Smith  and  his  henchmen  had  refused  to 
pass  anyone  but  the  doctor  and  nurse,  who 
were  with  their  patient  at  that  moment. 

"I  say,  Bob,"  he  went  on,  in  a  thunderous 
whisper  quite  as  audible  as  his  ordinary  voice, 
"I'm  devilish  glad  it's  you — I  am,  'pon  my 
soul !— because  some  of  these  chaps  have  been 
spinnin'  the  queerest  sort  of  yarn,  in  which 
a  murder,  a  suicide,  a  ghost,  and  a  pretty 
girl  are  mixed  up  in  fine  style.  Just  tell  'em 
all  to  go  to  blazes,  will  you? — except  Dobb. 
Dobb's  a  decent  fellow,  and  he  acted  for  the 
people  who  used  to  live  here — Hi !  Dobb.  This 

is "  Then  it  dawned  on  him  that  his 

friend  might  wish  still  to  preserve  his  anonym- 
ity save  in  the  sacred  circle  of  the  elect,  so 
he  broke  off  into  ' '  Come  along,  Dobb !  I  want 


280  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

you  to  meet  one  of  the  best  fellows  who  ever 
wore  shoe-leather!" 

Dobb  advanced.  With  him  came  a  gentle- 
man who  was  as  unknown  to  Nuttonby  as 
Armathwaite  himself.  Before  the  solicitor 
could  speak,  his  companion  said  quietly: 

''Sir  Robert  Dalrymple,  I  believe?" 

"Yes,"  and  Marguerite's  "chosen  mate" 
looked  him  very  searchingly  and  squarely  in 
the  eyes. 

"My  name  is  Morand,"  said  the  other.  "I 
am  sent  here  by  the  India  Office  to  tell  you 
"  he  glanced  around  in  momentary  hesita- 
tion. 

"Pray,  go  on,"  said  Dalrymple,  as  Arma- 
thwaite must  be  described  henceforth.  '  *  There 
is  nothing  that  the  India  Office  has  to  com- 
municate which  I  am  not  willing  that  all  the 
world  should  hear." 

"Happily,  Sir  Robert,  this  is  a  communica- 
tion which  all  the  world  ought  to  hear.  The 
Maharajah  of  Barapur  is  dead.  He  was  ass- 
assinated last  Monday  while  driving  through 
the  bazaar.  His  prime  minister,  Chalwar 
Singh,  was  with  him,  and  was  mortally 
wounded  at  the  same  time." 

"Then  India  is  well  rid  of  two  pestilent 
scoundrels,"  said  Dalrymple  unconcernedly. 

"That  is  the  view  now  held  by  the  Govern- 
ment," was  the  grave  answer. 


IN  WHICH  THE  AREA  WIDENS    281 

"A  death-bed  conversion,  of  a  sort,"  com- 
mented his  hearer  dryly. 

"A  death-bed  confession,  too,"  said  Mor- 
and.  "It  was  a  fortunate  thing  that  both 
men  lived  long  enough  to  reveal  that  they  had 
concocted  the  whole  story  of  the  Maharani's 
pearls  in  order  to  get  you  shelved.  Your  ad- 
ministration was  too  honest.  They  played  on 
your  well-known  carelessness  in  trivial  mat- 
ters of  detail,  and  bribed  your  native  sec- 
retary, Muncherji,  to  include  in  your  corre- 
spondence the  letters  which  seemed  to  prove 
your  complicity  in  a  serious  breach  of  trust. 
Muncherji,  by  rare  good  chance,  was  not  in 
Barapur  when  the  Maharajah  and  Chalwar 
Singh  were  riddled  with  bullets,  so  he  was  ar- 
rested before  he  knew  of  the  affair.  He,  too, 
has  confessed.  In  fact,  I  can  convey  every- 
thing in  a  sentence.  The  Government  of  India 
has  reinstated  you  in  the  High  Commissioner- 
ship,  and  you  are  gazetted  as  absent  on  leave. 
I  am  the  bearer  of  ample  apologies  from  the 
India  Office,  which  will  be  tendered  to  you  in 
person  by  my  chief  when  he  meets  you  in 
London.  Meanwhile,  I  am  to  request  you  to 
allow  the  announcement  to  be  made  public 
that  you  will  return  to  India  on  a  named  date, 
while  the  appointment  of  your  deputy  is  left 
open  for  your  recommendation." 

Dalrymple    paled    slightly,    which   was    the 


282  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

only  evidence  he  gave  of  the  effect  such  a 
statement  was  bound  to  produce  on  a  proud 
and  ambitious  nature,  but  Sir  Berkeley  Hutton 
was  irrepressible. 

"By  gad!"  he  roared,  "somebody's  gold 
lace  has  been  rolled  in  the  dust  of  Calcutta 
before  the  India  Department  climbed  down 
like  that.  I  never  heard  anything  like  it— 
never!  Ton  me  soul!  Won't  Mollie  be 
pleased?" 

Yet  the  man  to  whom  the  path  of  empire 
was  again  thrown  open  spoke  no  word.  It 
was  good  to  have  his  honor  cleared  of  the 
stain  put  on  it  by  a  scheming  Indian  prince 
and  his  henchmen.  It  was  good  to  find  him- 
self standing  once  more  in  the  high  place  he 
had  won  by  self-sacrificing  work  and  unflinch- 
ing adherence  to  an  ideal  of  efficient  govern- 
ment. But  his  thoughts  were  with  a  sorrow- 
stricken  girl  speeding  to  a  sad  tryst  with  a 
mother  who  might  bring  tidings  that  would 
blight  her  life  for  many  a  year. 

Morand  grew  anxious.  He  shared  Dalrym- 
ple's  knowledge  of  the  tremendous  issues 
bound  up  with  an  affair  of  State  of  real 
magnitude,  and  he  did  not  want  to  fail  in  this, 
his  first  confidential  mission. 

"If  there  is  anything  else  I  can  say,  Sir 

Robert "  he  began,  and  his  voice  disrupted 

a  dream. 


IN  WHICH  THE  AREA  WIDENS    283 

"It's  all  right,  Morand,"  said  the  other, 
letting  a  hand  rest  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
younger  man  in  that  characteristic  way  of  his. 
"I'm  not  such  a  cur  as  to  snarl  when  I  have 
been  proved  right,  and  my  traducers  are  ready 
to  admit  their  blunder.  I  didn't  yelp  when 
the  blow  fell.  I'm  not  going  to  kick  up  a 
bobbery  now  when  I'm  given  back  my  spurs. 
Tell  your  chief  that  I'll  come  to  him  soon, 
within  a  week,  if  possible.  I  have  business  on 
my  hands  here  that  calls  imperatively  for 
settlement.  I'll  deal  first  with  that;  then  I'll 
come.  Are  you  returning  to  town  at  once?" 

"By  the  first  available  train.  ^More  than 
that,  I  am  to  telegraph  your  decisimi'  to  White- 
hall. Between  you  and  me,  some  people  are 
in  a  howling  funk  lest  a  question  should  be 
put  in  the  House." 

"That  isn't  the  frontier  method.  Men  who 
appeal  to  Parliament  when  things  go  wrong 
are  of  no  value  to  India.  But  I  don't  want 
to  preach." 

"Won't  you  come  in?" 

"If  you'll  pardon  me,  I'll  hurry  back  to 
Nuttonby.  That  telegram  is  called  for  ur- 
gently. What  about  your  deputy?" 

"Collins  was  transferred  to  Oudh  because 
he  supported  me.  Send  him  to  Barapur.  The 
natives  will  understand  that  better  than  a 
dozen  gazettes." 


284  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

"  Thanks.  That  clinches  it,  Sir  Eobert. 
Mr.  Dobb,  do  you  mind  if  we  start  imme- 
diately?" 

Mr.  Dobb  did  mind.  For  one  thing,  he  had 
not  spoken  a  word  to  Sir  Robert  Dalrymple 
yet.  For  another,  Nuttonby  loomed  larger  in 
his  mind  than  some  wrangle  in  far-away  Hin- 
dustan, and  Nuttonby  was  seething  with  ru- 
mors anent  present  and  past  inhabitants  of  the 
Grange. 

"We,  like  the  State  of  Barapur,  have  our 
little  troubles,"  he  said  guardedly.  "Sir  Rob- 
ert has  shown  already  that  he  appreciates 
their  gravity.  My  car  will  take  you  to  Nut- 
tonby, Mr.  Morand,  and  come  back  for  me." 

The  representative  of  the  India  Office  was 
only  too  pleased  to  get  away  on  any  terms. 
He  knew  that  a  reassuring  message  was 
wanted  in  Whitehall.  There  were  wheels 
within  wheels.  A  question  was  put  in  the 
House  that  night,  and  an  Under-Secretary 
scoffed  at  the  notion  that  Sir  Robert  Dalrym- 
ple, "a  trusted  servant  of  his  country,  whose 
splendid  work  on  the  Indus  was  most  thor- 
oughly appreciated  by  the  Government  of 
India,"  had  been  requested  to  resign.  As  a 
matter  of  public  interest,  he  was  pleased  to 
inform  the  honorable  questioner  tliat  Sir 
Robert  Dalrymple,  only  that  day,  had  put  for- 
ward the  name  of  Mr.  Mortimer  Collins, 


IN  WHICH  THE  AREA  WIDENS     285 

I.C.S.,  to  act  as  his  deputy  in  Barapur  until 
he  returned  from  short  leave  granted  on  "ur- 
gent private  affairs/' 

The  motor  was  already  trumpeting  its  way 
through  a  mob  of  Elmdale  urchins,  who  sel- 
dom saw  a  car,  and  had  never  before  seen 
two  in  one  day,  when  Dalrymple  found  him- 
self regretting  he  had  not  inquired  how  Mor- 
and  contrived  to  get  on  his  track  so  easily. 
Some  weeks  elapsed  before  he  learned  that  the 
only  friend  in  London  who  knew  his  where- 
abouts thought  it  a  duty  to  speak  when  the 
hue  and  cry  went  forth  from  the  India  Office. 

Dalrymple  was  with  his  friend,  a  retired 
general,  in  his  club  when  the  vexed  adminis- 
trator announced  his  intention  to  retire  from 
the  arena  and  take  a  well-earned  rest. 

"I'll  assume  my  mother's  name,  Armath- 
waite,"  he  had  said,  "and  rusticate  in  some 
place  where  Barapur  is  unknown  and  India 
never  mentioned.  Let's  have  a  look  at  the 
map!" 

He  glanced  at  a  motoring  road-book  lying 
on  the  club  table. 

"Here  we  are!"  he  laughed.  "Judging  by 
the  condition  of  the  highways,  there  are  back- 
woods near  Nuttonby,  in  Yorkshire.  My  postal 
address  will  be  Armathwaite,  near  Nuttonby, 
for  some  months.  But  I'll  write." 

So  that  was  how  it  happened  that  Sir  Rob- 


286  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

ert  Dalrymple  came  to  the  Grange,  and  met 
Marguerite  Ogilvey.  Some  part  of  the  out- 
come of  that  meeting  was  foreshadowed  while 
Smith  of  the  Begonias  was  unlocking  the  gate, 
because  a  procession  of  three  appeared  in  the 
porch. 

Dr.  Scaife  and  a  nurse  were  carrying  Percy 
Whittaker  between  them.  The  doctor's  dis- 
tress was  almost  comical  when  he  caught  sight 
of  Dalrymple.  He  shouted  brokenly,  being 
rather  breathless: 

"For  goodness'  sake — Mr.  Armathwaite— 
come  and  persuade  this  young  man — to  remain 
here.  He  insists — on  being  taken  away — at 
once!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST 

IT  has  been  seen  that  Dalrymple  had  a  short 
way  with  the  Percy  Whittakers  of  this  world. 
He  strode  up  the  garden  path  and  confronted 
Whittaker,  who  was  standing  on  one  foot  and 
clinging  in  pain  and  terror  to  Dr.  Scaife  and 
the  nurse. 

"You  had  better  remain  here,"  he  said 
sternly.  "Miss  Ogilvey  has  only  gone  to  meet 
her  mother  at  York.  Both  ladies  will  probably 
arrive  this  evening.  Why  are  you  making 
yourself  a  nuisance  when  everyone  is  doing" 
all  that  is  possible  to  serve  you?" 

Whittaker  clutched  the  doctor  even  more 
tightly. 

"He  says  that  before  witnesses,"  he  quav- 
ered, "yet  less  than  an  hour  ago  he  tried  to 
strangle  me." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!  I  don't  believe  it!" 
protested  Scaife  emphatically. 

"I  frightened  him,  undoubtedly,"  said 
Dalrymple.  "It  was  necessary.  Sometimes  a 
threatened  spanking  is  as  effectual  as  the  real 
thing,  and  Mr.  Whittaker 's  nervous  system 

287 


has  led  him  to  take  an  exaggerated  view  of 
my  intentions.  The  fact  is  that  he  himself 
was  responsible  for  a  show  of  violence  on  my 
part.  Meanwhile,  Marguerite  Ogilvey,  whom 
you  have  always  known  as  Meg  Garth,  Dr. 
Scaife,  has  promised  to  become  my  wife,  so 
Mr.  Whittaker  and  I  have  no  further  cause 
for  quarrel.  Indeed,  by  the  time  he  is  able 
to  walk  downstairs  unassisted,  his  own  good 
sense  will  come  to  the  rescue,  and  blot  out 
any  unpleasant  memories  as  between  him  and 
me.  .  .  .  Now,  Percy,  my  boy,  let  me  use  my 
muscles  to  better  purpose  than  choking  the 
life  out  of  you.  I'm  going  to  carry  you  back 
to  bed  again." 

His  air  of  quiet  domination,  no  less  than 
the  news  which  sounded  the  knell  of  Whit- 
taker's  hopes,  seemed  to  mesmerize  the  neu- 
rotic youth  into  silence  and  submission. 
Dalrymple  took  him  in  his  arms,  lifted  him 
off  the  ground  with  gentle  care,  and  carried 
him  to  the  bedroom  he  had  insisted  on  leaving. 
The  nurse  followed,  and  he  left  the  invalid  in 
her  care. 

Hastening  to  the  porch,  he  found  Dr.  Scaife 
mopping  his  forehead;  the  worthy  doctor  was 
more  upset  by  the  frenzied  statements  made 
by  Percy  than  by  the  physical  effort  involved 
by  carrying  him  downstairs. 

"Wait  one  moment,"  he  said.    "I'm  bring- 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST     289 

ing  in  some  men  whom  you  know.  Then  I 
shall  explain  every  thing. " 

He  passed  on  to  the  gate. 

"I  want  you,  Hutton,  and  you,  Mr.  Dobb, 
to  come  into  the  house.  Those  police  officers 
also  had  better  join  us.  Who  is  the  other 
man?" 

"Mr.  Banks,  of  the  Nuttoriby  Gazette,''  said 
the  baronet. 

;;Vcry  well.  Let  him  come,  too.  Better 
tell  him  what  he  must  not  say  rather  than 
correct  his  blunders  subsequently  in  a  court 
of  law." 

Mr.  Dobb,  being  a  lawyer,  doubted  the  wis- 
dom of  admitting  a  representative  of  the 
press  to  their  conclave,  but  Dalrymple's  air 
of  authority  kept  him  dumb.  During  the 
drive  from  Nuttonby  the  delegate  of  the  India 
Office  had  discoursed  on  the  important  posi- 
tion this  stranger  occupied  in  India,  and  it 
was  not  for  a  country  solicitor,  who  hardly 
guessed  what  was  coming,  to  question  his  de- 
cision before  he  knew  its  scope. 

And  therein  Dalrymple  showed  his  genius. 
Banks,  already  in  a  flutter  because  of  certain 
indiscretions  in  his  printed  references  to  the 
inquest,  was  at  once  soothed  and  gratified  by 
the  great  man's  tact.  The  police  superinten- 
dent found  the  ground  cut  away  from  beneath 
his  feet  by  the  full  and  complete  version  of 


290  TEE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

recent  events  which  Dalrymple  supplied.  Sir 
Berkeley  and  the  doctor  listened  to  the  recital 
with  ill-suppressed  amazement,  but,  at  the  end, 
they  agreed,  each  and  all,  with  Dalrymple 's 
suggestion  that  judgment  should  be  suspended 
until  Mrs.  Ogilvey  was  in  Elmdale. 

He  did  not  attempt  to  argue  that  the  law 
should  not  take  its  course. 

" During  the  past  ten  years,"  he  said,  "I 
have  held  the  lives  and  liberties  of  two  mil- 
lions of  people  in  my  keeping,  so  I  need  hardly 
say  that  I  am  a  most  unlikely  person  to  fly 
in  the  face  of  authority.  But  there  are  cir- 
cumstances connected  with  this  inquiry  which 
call  for  careful  treatment.  Some  man  died 
here,  and  was  buried,  and  the  law  must  be 
satisfied  that  Mr.  Stephen  Ogilvey  was  either 
ignorant  of  the  occurrence,  or  had  no  guilty 
knowledge  of  it — which  is  not  quite  the  same 
thing — before  he  can  be  exonerated  from  the 
grave  suspicion  at  present  attached  to  his 
actions  of  two  years  ago.  Now,  I  have  not 
the  honor  of  knowing  either  Mr.  Ogilvey  or 
his  wife,  but  I  do  hold  that  they  could  not 
have  won  the  respect  of  their  neighbors  during 
twenty  years  of  residence  in  this  house  and 
yet  be  capable  of  planning  and  committing  an 
atrocious  murder.  I  would  point  out  that 
Mrs.  Ogilvey  shares  some  of  the  blame,  or 
the  guilt,  of  her  husband.  If  he  is  a  criminal, 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST     291 

she  knows  it.  The  law  looks  with  lenient  eyes 
on  a  woman  who  shields  a  man  in  such  condi- 
tions, but  that  element  in  human  affairs  only 
goes  to  strengthen  my  contention  that  Mrs. 
Ogilvey  can,  if  she  chooses,  throw  a  flood  of 
light  on  this  strange  problem.  She  is  now  on 
her  way  North.  Her  daughter  has  gone  to 
York  to  meet  her.  In  all  likelihood,  one  or 
both  ladies  will  be  in  Elmdale  to-night.  Is  it 
not  reasonable  to  ask  that  investigation  by  the 
police  into  a  singular  occurrence  now  two 
years  old  should  be  postponed  till  to-morrow? 
Gentlemen,  I  promise  you  this.  Come  here 
to-morrow,  say,  about  two  o'clock,  and  you 
will  be  placed  in  possession  of  every  fact  then 
known  to  me.  It  is  obvious,  in  my  opinion, 
that  the  police  can  hardly  adopt  any  other 
course,  but  I  am  bound  to  point  out  to  Mr. 
Banks  that  the  man  who  writes,  and  the 
newspaper  which  publishes,  theories  or  specu- 
lations with  regard  to  this  matter  before  it 
is  fully  cleared  up  through  the  proper  chan- 
nel, will  incur  a  most  serious  responsi- 
bility." 

Sir  Berkeley  Hutton,  of  course,  had  a  word 
to  say. 

"Mr.  Garth,  or  Mr.  Ogilvey  as  you  now  call 
him,  is  an  old  and  valued  friend  of  mine,"  he 
declared,  "and  it  is  my  fixed  and  definite  be- 
lief that  if  he  was  stung  by  a  wasp  he  would 


292  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

find  some  excuse  for  a  poor  insect  which  was 
only  trying  to  protect  itself  from  imaginary 
danger.  Stephen  Garth  kill  anybody!  Stuff 
and  nonsense!" 

Mr.  Dobb,  too,  was  incredulous  in  so  far  as 
his  friend's  criminality  was  concerned. 

"Mr.  Garth  certainly  wrote  the  letter  to  the 
coroner,"  he  said. '  "I  saw  if,  and  recognized 
his  handwriting.  Therefore,  he  knew  that  a 
death  had  taken  place,  and  used  a  remarkably 
ingenious  method  of  hoodwinking  the  authori- 
ties. That,  in  itself,  is  a  legal  offense — the 
magnitude  of  which  alone  can  be  estimated 
when  we  know  the  truth.  I  agree  with  Sir 
Robert  Dalrymple.  We  must  await  Mrs. 
Garth's,  or,  I  suppose  I  must  learn  to  say, 
Mrs.  Ogilvey's,  arrival  before  any  other  steps 
are  taken.  Meanwhile,  it  is  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance that  no  word  of  this  discussion  shall 
travel  beyond  these  four  walls." 

"Will  Sir  Robert  Dalrymple  undertake  to 
notify  me  of  Mrs.  Ogilvey's  presence?"  was 
the  very  pertinent  inquiry  made  by  the  police 
superintendent. 

Dalrymple  undertook  readily  to  send  a  mes- 
senger into  Nuttonby  early  next  morning,  and 
his  diplomacy  was  rewarded  by  seeing  the 
conclave  break  up  on  that  understanding. 
Nevertheless,  he  passed  a  miserable  and  rest- 
less day.  He  had  not  stemmed  the  torrent, 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST     393 

but  diverted  it.  If  his  faith  was  not  justified, 
if  Marguerite's  mother  either  refused  to  give 
any  explanation  of  her  husband's  extraordin- 
ary ruse,  or  denied  all  knowledge  of  it,  there 
was  no  getting  away  from  the  fact  that  the 
elderly  recluse  might  soon  be  lodged  in  a 
felon's  cell. 

Marguerite  herself  would  strain  every  nerve 
to  save  her  father,  if  only  by  flight,  but  her 
lover  realized  how  futile  that  would  prove. 
He  had  secured  a  respite — and  no  more.  If 
Mrs.  Ogilvey's  admissions  led  her  daughter  to 
journey  on  through  the  night  to  Warleggan, 
the  girl  might  contrive  to  hurry  her  father 
out  of  England  before  the  bolt  fell.  But  to 
what  avail?  They  would  be  traced  with  ease. 
Their  flight,  the  pursuit,  the  arrest,  would 
only  add  fuel  to  the  flame  lighted  by  inquisi- 
tive newspapers.  Better,  far  better,  that  the 
man  should  face  an  inquiry  at  once  rather 
than  be  put  on  trial  after  a  vain  attempt  to 
escape. 

It  was  almost  a  relief  to  visit  Percy  Whit- 
taker  during  the  afternoon,  and  endeavor  to 
convert  him  from  active  enmity  into  a  sulky 
acquiescence  in  things  as  they  were,  and  not 
as  he  hoped  they  would  be.  Luckily,  Dalrym- 
ple  had  estimated  a  curious  temperament  with 
singular  accuracy.  After  a  long  conversation, 
in  which  the  older  man  cajoled  and  flattered 


294    THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

Percy  by  turns,  the  latter  declared  that  he 
never  meant  to  put  his  threat  into  force. 

"I'm  not  such  an  ass  as  to  want  to  marry 
a  girl  who  loathed  the  sight  of  me,"  he  said 
ruefully.  "I  tried  to  frighten  Meg.  I  guessed 
she'd  run  off  to  Warleggan.  My  motive  was 
to  separate  the  pair  of  you.  Then  I'd  follow, 
as  soon  as  this  confounded  ankle  of  mine 
would  permit,  and  tell  her  candidly  that  I  was 
frantically  jealous  of  you.  Dash  it  all,  and 
not  without  good  cause!  All's  fair  in  love 
an'  war,  Mr.  Armathwaite.  I've  a  notion  now 
that  my  splutter  simply  drove  her  into  your 
arms." 

"My  name  is  not  Armathwaite "  began 

Dalrymple,  whereupon  Whittaker  glared  at 
him  in  a  new  frenzy. 

"I  never  thought  it  was!"  he  vociferated. 
"Let  me  tell  you  you're  the  biggest  puzzle  of 
the  lot.  I  shan't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  you 
say  you  are  the  fellow  who  hanged  somebody 
here,  and  persuaded  old  Garth  to  stand  the 
racket. ' ' 

So,  to  pass  the  time  while  the  nurse  was 
eating  a  meal,  Dalrymple  told  him  the  story 
of  Barapur,  and  Percy  heard,  and  was  sub- 
dued, since  he  knew  now  that,  come  what 
might,  Marguerite  Ogilvey  was  lost  to  him 
forever. 

Then,  while  Dalrymple  was   surveying  the 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST     295 

day's  work  of  Smith  and  his  men,  and  de- 
claring it  was  good,  there  came  a  messenger 
from  Bellerby  on  a  borrowed  bicycle,  bearing 
a  telegram.  It  was  from  Marguerite,  and 
Dalrymple's  heart  danced  with  joy  when  he 
read: 

4 'All  is  well.  Father  leaves  for  York  to- 
night. He  will  join  mother  and  me  early  to- 
morrow. Expect  us  about  ten  o'clock.  Am 
detaining  car.  Love,  MEG." 

All  is  well!  What  was  well?  It  was  a 
woman's  message,  which  assumed  everything 
and  told  nothing,  except  the  one  amazing  fact 
that  Stephen  Ogilvey's  wife  had  evidently  de- 
cided that  the  period  of  concealment  was 
ended,  and  that  her  husband  should  now  vin- 
dicate himself  in  the  eyes  of  his  world. 

At  any  rate,  a  youth  returned  to  Bellerby 
with  two  bicycles  and  the  richer  by  two  sov- 
ereigns, so  it  is  tolerably  certain  that  Dalrym- 
ple's  few  words  of  congratulation  were  not 
delayed  on  the  way. 

The  new  tenant  smoked  and  mused  in  the 
garden  for  another  hour,  until  Betty  came  to 
summon  him  to  dinner.  He  was  entering  the 
house  when  he  saw  the  ghost  again,  a  phan- 
tom divested  now  of  eeriness,  because  a  round 
blob  of  sunshine  shone  on  the  wall  instead  of 
the  white  sockets  of  eyes  which  lent  such  a 
ghoulish  aspect  to  the  shadowy  face.  Then  he 


296  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

did  a  queer  thing.  Lifting  the  grandfather's 
clock,  and  disregarding  the  protest  of  weights 
and  pendulum  thumping  against  its  wooden 
ribs,  he  placed  it  exactly  where  the  reflection 
of  the  window  fell.  Instantly,  the  ghost  van- 
ished. The  dark  mahogany  case  absorbed  the 
outlines  of  the  figure.  The  old  Spanish  wood 
glowed  richly  here  and  there  where  the  lights 
were  strongest,  and  a  disk  of  gold  illumined 
the  dull  brass  of  the  clock's  face.  And  that 
was  the  end  of  the  Elmdale  ghost!  Never 
again  would  it  be  seen  until  someone  moved 
the  clock,  and  Sir  Robert  Dalrymple  vowed 
that  such  alteration  should  not  occur  in  his 
time. 

Luckily,  Dr.  Scaife  came  just  as  Dalrymple 
was  sitting  down  to  a  solitary  meal,  and  he 
was  promptly  bidden  to  the  feast.  Dalrymple 
showed  him  Marguerite's  telegram,  and  they 
discussed  it  for  an  hour,  or  longer,  though 
with  no  result,  for  they  could  only  theorize, 
and,  since  truth  is  stranger  than  fiction,  even 
two  such  acute  minds  failed  to  arrive  at  the 
actual  solution  of  the  mystery. 

Dalrymple  went  late  to  bed,  and  awoke 
early,  to  find  that  the  much-maligned  British 
climate  had  produced  another  fine  day.  It 
was  joyous  to  see  the  sun  shining  into  his 
bedroom;  it  was  still  more  joyous  to  descend 
the  stairs,  and  glimpse  the  blue  sky  through 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST     297 

the  B'iack  Prince's  visor.  A  current  of  pure, 
sweet-scented  air  came  through  the  orifice, 
and  seemed  to  presage  a  new  span  of  life  to 
the  old  house;  Dalrymple  decided,  then  and 
there,  that  when  the  turmoil  had  subsided,  he 
would  commission  the  best  obtainable  artist 
in  stained  glass  to  restore  the  Black  Prince's 
features  in  guise  befitting  his  character  as  a 
warrior,  statesman,  and  true  lover. 

A  few  minutes  before  ten  Tom  Bland  came 
with  a  cartload  of  plants  from  a  nursery. 
Smith  and  the  laborers  carried  the  boxes  of 
flowers  into  the  garden,  and  set  them  on  both 
sides  of  the  path,  so  that  happy  chance  con- 
trived that  Marguerite  should  lead  her  parents 
to  their  old  home  through  a  blaze  of  color 
when  the  automobile  brought  them  to  the  gate 
at  ten  o'clock. 

It  is  not  often  that  any  collection  of  mortals 
is  privileged  to  see  a  ghost  in  broad  daylight, 
and  in  the  rays  of  a  powerful  sun  at  that,  but 
such  was  the  lot  of  carrier  Bland,  gardener 
Smith,  and  four  gaping  yokels  of  Elmdale,  not 
to  mention  a  quite  respectable  number  of 
other  inhabitants,  when  Stephen  Garth 
alighted  from  the  car  and  walked  jauntily  up 
the  garden  to  the  porch  of  his  own  house. 
To  save  Mrs.  Jackson  and  Betty  from  spasms, 
Dalrymple  had  warned  them  previously  of 
Mr.  Garth's  coming,  but  the  men,  and  Elm- 


298  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

dale  generally,  were  not  thus  enlightened,  and 
some  of  them  would  certainly  have  bolted  had 
they  not  seen  "the  new  guv 'nor"  shaking 
hands  with  "the  old  guv 'nor,"  and  had  not 
the  latter  stopped  to  greet  Begonia  Smith 
with  the  exceedingly  trite  remark: 

"Well,  Smith,  I'm  not  so  dead  as  you 
thought  me!" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Smith,  who  did  not  find  his 
tongue  again  until  the  newcomers  had  gone 
into  the  Grange. 

Then  he  turned  to  one  of  the  men. 

"All  I  can  say,  Henery,  is  this,"  he  mur- 
mured huskily.  "I've  heerd  of  people  lookin' 
as  though  they'd  bin  dead  an'  dug  up,  but 
I'll  take  my  oath  no  one  has  dug  Mr.  Garth 
out  o'  Bellerby  Churchyard." 

"It  must  be  all  right,  though,"  was  the 
philosophic  answer.  "Miss  Meg  wouldn't 
look  so  happy  if  there  was  goin'  to  be 
trouble. ' ' 

"Ay!  But  hurry  up  with  those  begonias. 
In  with  'em!" 

It  would  serve  no  good  purpose  to  set  forth 
in  detail  the  manner  in  which  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Ogilvey  cleared  up  the  mystery  on  the  one 
hand,  and  became  mystified  themselves  on  the 
other.  Few  parents  can  rear  a  charming 
daughter  to  womanhood  without  experiencing 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST     299 

the  surprise,  almost  the  dismay,  of  finding 
that  she  has  given  her  heart  to  a  man  of 
whom  they  know  little.  In  this  instance,  a 
devoted  father  and  an  equally  devoted  mother 
could  only  listen  in  bewilderment  when  the 
girl,  who  was  still  a  child  in  their  eyes,  in- 
troduced "  Robert  Armathwaite"  as  her 
promised  husband,  while  their  astonished  eyes 
were  only  paralleled  by  Meg's  own  when  the 
tall,  grave-looking  stranger  proceeded  to  ex- 
plain that  he  was  not  Robert  Armathwaite, 
but  Sir  Robert  Dalrymple,  K.C.S.I. 

Marguerite,  at  first,  believed  he  was  joking. 
When  he  assured  her  he  was  even  more  serious 
than  usual,  she  relieved  the  situation  by  mak- 
ing an  elaborate  curtsey  to  her  own  reflection 
in  an  old-fashioned  mirror  in  the  drawing- 
room. 

"Lady  Dalrymple!"  she  cried.  "Presented 
at  court  by  her  humble  self!  Sir  Robert 
Dalrymple,  K.C.S.I.!  Lady  Dalrymple,  K.I.- 
S.S.!" 

Whereupon,  she  proceeded  to  invest  each  of 
them  with  her  own  order. 

When  the  bench,  the  bar,  the  police,  and  the 
.press  were  duly  represented  that  afternoon, 
Mr.  Stephen  Ogilvey  spoke  fully  and  frankly. 
His  wife  and  daughter  were  present,  and,  if 
Mrs.  Ogilvey  wept  a  little  during  the  recital, 
it  was  only  natural. 


300  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

For  she  alone  knew  what  this  gentle-voiced, 
white-haired  man  had  endured  during  those 
June  days  two  years  ago. 

Even  the  tender-hearted  Marguerite  could 
never  realize  the  exquisite  torture  which  her 
father  had  suffered  voluntarily.  Perhaps  the 
presence  of  her  lover,  combined  with  the  re- 
action of  the  discovery  that  her  father  had 
committed  no  actual  crime,  rendered  her  tem- 
porarily incapable  of  appreciating  the  motives 
which  accounted  for  his  actions. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  this  is  his  story : 

"To  make  clear  the  reason  which  led  me 
to  deceive  my  friends  in  Elmdale  in  such  an 
extraordinary  way,  I  must  go  back  twenty- 
four  years  in  my  life.  I  was  then  thirty-five 
years  of  age,  and  Professor  of  Philology  in 
a  recently-formed  University  in  the  Midlands. 
I  was  married,  but,  as  some  of  you  know, 
my  first  and  only  child  was  not  born  until 
the  events  happened  which  drove  me  into  re- 
tirement, and  led  my  dear  wife  and  myself 
to  seek  the  peace  and  seclusion  of  Elmdale." 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  Dalrymple 
and  Marguerite  exchanged  smiling  glances  at 
those  words;  but  the  Professor's  strange  nar- 
rative should  not  be  interrupted  by  lovers' 
confidences. 

"I  am  a  man  of  highly  sensitive  nature," 
he  went  on,  "and  my  mind  almost  gave  way 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST     301 

under  the  shock  when  my  brother  James, 
somewhat  older  than  myself,  who  occupied  a 
prominent  position  in  Birmingham  as  manager 
of  an  important  private  bank,  was  reported 
missing  from  his  office  under  circumstances 
which  pointed  to  a  serious  and  systematic  em- 
bezzlement of  the  bank's  funds.  Day  by  day 
the  scandal  enlarged  its  bounds.  The  bank 
closed  its  doors;  hundreds  of  people  were 
ruined;  there  were  several  cases  of  suicide 
among  the  robbed  depositors;  and,  at  last, 
my  brother,  James  Ogilvey,  was  arrested  in 
France,  owing  to  a  chance  meeting  with  a 
man  who  knew  him.  He  was  brought  to  trial, 
sentenced  to  a  long  term  of  penal  servitude, 
and  passed  into  seeming  oblivion  accompanied 
by  the  curses  of  thousands.  My  wife  and  I 
literally  could  not  hold  up  our  heads  among 
our  friends  in  the  Midlands,  and,  as  we  were 
not  wholly  dependent  on  my  earnings,  we  re- 
solved to  change  our  name  and  start  life  anew. 
At  that  crisis,  my  mother  died.  Undoubtedly 
her  death  was  hastened  by  my  brother's 
wrong-doing,  and  it  is  probable  that  she  de- 
stroyed a  will  already  in  existence,  meaning 
to  make  another,  but  was  stricken  down  by 
apoplexy  before  she  could  carry  out  her  inten- 
tion. At  any  rate,  no  will  was  found,  so  her 
property  became  intestate.  This  house  and 
ground  belonged  to  her,  but  she  was  unknown 


302  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

locally,  as  she  left  Elmdale  more  than  half 
a  century  ago,  so,  after  settling  some  legal 
matters,  my  wife  and  I  determined  to  live 
here,  and  adopt  my  wife's  maiden  name. 
There  was  no  great  difficulty.  I  still  con- 
tinued to  do  my  work,  which  was  mainly  of 
a  specialist  nature,  under  my  own  name,  but 
in  Elmdale  I  was  always  'Stephen  Garth/ 
and  the  catastrophe  in  the  Midlands  soon 
passed  into  the  mists  when  our  child  was  born. 
"We  reasoned  that  by  the  time  she  grew 
to  womanhood,  the  memory  of  James  Ogilvey's 
crime  would  have  died  away.  At  any  rate, 
there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  letting  her 
know  that  such  a  person  had  ever  existed, 
and  you  can  take  it  from  me  that  she  was 
ignorant  of  the  fact  until  a  late  hour  yester- 
day. Some  eight  years  ago,  my  unfortunate 
brother  was  released.  I  met  him  in  London, 
supplied  him  with  ample  funds,  and  sent  him 
to  the  Colonies,  taking  good  care  that  he 
should  know  neither  my  altered  name  nor  my 
address.  I  heard  no  more  of  him  until  the 
beginning  of  June,  two  years  since,  when  he 
wrote  to  me  as  'Stephen  Garth,'  said  he  was 
coming  to  live  in  my  house,  being  tired  of  a 
roving  life,  and  threatened  to  take  lodgings  in 
the  village  if  I  did  not  receive  him.  Now,  my 
wife  and  I  were  determined  that  he  should 
never  cross  our  daughter's  path  if  we  could 


TEE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST     303 

help  it,  so  a  journey  to  France  was  resolved 
on  hastily  and  the  two  took  their  departure. 
For  my  own  part,  I  decided  to  await  my 
brother's  coming,  and  try  to  reason  with  him. 
If  he  proved  obdurate,  I  meant  to  join  my 
wife  and  daughter  abroad,  and,  to  that  end,  as 
Mr.  Dobb  is  aware,  I  made  over  all  my  prop- 
erty to  my  wife  in  trust  for  my  daughter. 
This  step  was  necessary,  I  believe,  to  save 
them  from  persecution  at  my  brother's  hands, 
because  he  had  hinted  at  some  grievance  with 
regard  to  the  disposition  of  my  mother's  estate, 
a  grievance  quite  unfounded,  since  I  had  dealt 
with  him  most  generously  on  his  release  from 
prison.  In  order  to  conceal  his  presence  from 
the  villagers  until  I  had  tried  every  agrument 
to  prevail  on  him  to  leave  me  and  my  family 
in  peace,  I  arranged  to  meet  him  at  Leyburn, 
and  drive  to  the  edge  of  the  moor.  I  brought 
him  to  the  house  without  anyone  being  the 
wiser,  but  I  soon  found  I  was  a  child  in  his 
hands.  He  played  on  my  fear  of  publicity  by 
agreeing  to  lie  perdu  if  I  would  supply  him 
with  drink.  I  bore  with  the  infliction  for  some 
days  until,  driven  to  despair,  I  refused  to 
purchase  any  more  alcohol.  There  was  a 
furious  scene  between  us,  and  he  threatened 
not  merely  exposure,  but  legal  proceedings  to 
force  me  to  'disgorge,'  as  he  put  it,  his  share 
of  the  property  left  by  our  mother,  whose 


304  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

maiden  name,  by  the  way,  Faulkner,  is  well 
known  here.  I  realize  now  that  James  was 
in  a  state  verging  on  dementia,  but  I  may  sum 
up  a  distressing  period  of  four  days  and  nights 
of  suffering  by  saying  that,  in  a  final  par- 
oxysm of  rage,  he  was  seized  with  apoplexy, 
and  died  almost  instantaneously. 

"  Though  convinced  that  he  was  dead,  I 
hoped  against  hope  for  some  hours.  Then 
rigor  mortis  set  in,  and  I  knew  that  the  only 
man  who  had  ever  inflicted  an  injury  on  my 
good  name  had  struck  his  last  and  shrewdest 
blow  by  dying  in  my  house.  I  want  you  to 
consider  the  position  I  was  in.  A  man,  a 
stranger,  was  lying  there  dead,  in  circum- 
stances that  demanded  an  inquest.  I  had  not 
called  for  a  doctor,  or  obtained  any  assistance 
locally.  I  had  sent  my  wife  and  daughter  to  a 
foreign  country,  obviously  to  get  them  out  of 
the  way.  A  post-mortem  examination  would 
show  that  death  had  taken  place  nearly  a  day 
before  I  made  any  stir.  If  I  destroyed  certain 
documents  in  my  brother's  possession — such, 
for  instance,  as  a  ticket  of  leave,  which  he  had 
retained  long  after  its  expiry  for  the  mere 
purpose,  I  firmly  believe,  of  bringing  pres- 
sure to  bear  on  me — there  would  be  nothing 
to  show  his  identity.  In  a  word,  there  was  a 
prima  facie  case  of  murder  ready  to  be  estab- 
lished against  me.  Of  course,  the  medical 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST     305 

evidence  would  go  to  prove  my  innocence, 
but  all  the  world — all  of  my  small  world,  at 
any  rate — would  gape  and  gossip  because  of 
the  scandal  which  my  wife  and  I  had  given 
more  than  twenty  years  of  our  life  to  escape. 
For  the  sake  of  my  wife  and  daughter  I  re- 
solved upon  a  daring  expedient.  The  'Ogil- 
vey  fraud'  of  a  previous  generation  was  for- 
gotten. Why  should  I  not  resume  my  own 
name,  and  let  my  brother  die  and  be  buried 
as  Stephen  Garth?  I  saw  that  my  own  be- 
havior during  the  past  week  would  help  the 
assumption  that  I  had  committed  suicide, 
while  a  rather  marked  resemblance  between 
my  brother  and  myself,  together  with  the  fact 
that  he  had  died  from  apoplexy,  would  com- 
plete the  illusion.  Moreover,  there  exists,  in 
connection  with  this  very  house,  a  curious  leg- 
end which  condemned  seven  generations  of  its 
owners  to  die  by  violence,  either  self-inflicted, 
or  caused  by  others.  James  Ogilvey's  death 
was  the  seventh,  and  I  trusted  to  this  alleged 
prophecy  of  a  Spanish  priest  put  to  death  by 
a  sea-rover  named  Faulkner  in  the  seventeenth 
century  being  sufficiently  well  known  in  con- 
nection with  a  shadow,  or  manifestation,  cast 
on  the  wall  by  a  stained-glass  window  in  the 
staircase. 

"At  any  rate,  I  steeled  my  heart  to  a  dread- 
ful undertaking,  dressed  my  brother  in  my  own 


306  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

clothes,  tied  his  body  to  a  hook  in  the  hall 
where  the  shadow  I  have  spoken  of  is  seen 
at  this  time  of  the  year,  and  stole  away  across 
the  moor  after  writing  a  letter  to  the  coroner. 

"Gentlemen,  I  believe  I  have  broken  the  law 
in  some  respects,  and  I  am  prepared  to  suffer 
for  my  misdeeds.  Perhaps,  a  long  and  blame- 
less and  not  wholly  useless  life  may  plead  for 
me  now.  I  acted  as  I  did  because  of  a  certain 
pride  in  my  work,  and  because  of  my  love  for 
a  dear  wife  and  daughter.  I  dreamed  that  the 
dead  past  had  indeed  buried  its  dead  but,  by 
a  most  unusual  combination  of  simple  circum- 
stances, the  whole  strange  story  has  been 
brought  to  light.  I  have  nothing  more  to  say. 
Now  that  a  long  ordeal  of  silence  is  ended,  I 
am  happier  to-day  than  I  ever  thought  to  be 
again  in  my  existence.  I  can  produce  a  certain 
number  of  documents  to  prove  what  I  may 
term  the  historical  part  of  my  confession. 
The  really  vital  part  of  it — the  manner  of 
my  brother's  death — can  receive  no  other 
testimony  than  my  own,  eked  out  by  such 
statement  as  my  friend,  Dr.  Scaife,  may  find 
himself  able  to  make  after  hearing  my  version 
of  the  tragedy." 

Marguerite  ran  to  her  father  and  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck. 

"If  they  take  you  before  a  judge,  dad,"  she 
cried,  "let  me  go  into  court  and  tell  them  that 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  GHOST     307 

I  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble.  Then  he 
will  warn  me  not  to  be  such  a  bad  little  girl, 
and  sympathize  with  you  so  greatly  that  he 
will  say  you  leave  the  court  without  a  stain 
on  your  character." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  owing  to  the  attitude 
of  the  authorities  and  with  the  active  assist- 
ance of  Banks  in  the  columns  of  the  Nuttoriby 
Gazette,  the  official  inquiry  into  the  affair  at- 
tracted very  little  notice.  A  ten-line  para- 
graph explained  that  it  was  Mr.  James  Ogilvey 
who  died,  and  not  Mr.  Stephen  Garth,  and  a 
special  faculty  was  obtained  to  correct  the  an- 
nouncement on  the  stone  in  Bellerby  church- 
yard. Naturally,  the  people  in  Elmdale  and 
the  neighborhood  had  a  pretty  fair  knowledge 
of  the  truth,  but  everyone  was  so  pleased  to 
see  the  "professor"  and  his  wife  again  that 
the  thing  was  hushed  up  with  remarkable  ease. 
Even  Percy  Whittaker  held  his  tongue. 

Village  gossip  has  it  that  Storr,  the  chauf- 
feur, is  badly  smitten  by  Betty  Jackson's 
charms.  The  girl's  mother  clinched  matters 
by  grumbling  that  "sen  Betty's  gotten  a  young 
man  there's  no  doin'  owt  wi'  her."  And  Be- 
gonia Smith  turned  the  garden  into  a  fairy- 
land that  summer. 

The  Black  Prince  received  his  new  and  most 
impressive  set  of  features  before  a  certain 


308  THE  HOUSE  'ROUND  THE  CORNER 

noteworthy  marriege  took  place,  and  beamed 
a  courtly  approval  on  the  bride  when  she  de- 
scended the  stairs  in  her  wedding  dress.  In 
fact,  the  Elmdale  tragedy  received  its  quietus 
when  James  Walker,  senior,  and  James 
Walked,  junior,  watched  Sir  Robert  and  Lady 
Dalrymple  drive  past  their  office  en  route  to 
Paris  and  the  Continent, 

Said  the  father: 

"Little  things  often  lead  to  the  most  sur- 
prising events.  Who'd  ha'  thought,  Jimmie, 
when  we  let  the  ' House  'Round  the  Corner' 
to  a  stranger  named  Robert  Armathwaite,  that 
we  were  indirectly  bringing  about  the  mar- 
riage of  Meg  Garth  to  Sir  Robert  Dalrymple  I ' ' 

"Well,  I  didn't,  for  one!"  said  the  son 
gloomily. 

THE  END 


ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

May  b»  had  wharevsr  book«  are  told.        Art  for  Broutt  *  Dnniip't  llrt 
THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 

A  New  York  society  girl  buys  a  ranch  which  become*  the  center  of  frontier  war- 
tare.  _  Her  loyal  superintendent  rescues  her  when  she  is  captured  by  bandits.  A 
surprising  climax  brings  the  story  to  a  delightful  close. 

THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 

The  story  of  a  young-  clergyman  who  becomes  a  wanderer  in  the  great  western  ' 
uplands— until  at  last  love  and  faith  awake. 

DESERT  GOLD 

The  story  describes  the  recent  uprising:  along  the  border,  and  ends  with  the  finding 
of  the  gold  which  two  prospectors  had  willed  to  the  girl  who  is  the  story's  heroine. 

RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 

A  picturesque  romance  of  Utah  of  some  forty  years  ago  when  Mormon  authority 
ru^ed.  The  prosecution  of  Jane  Wither steen  is  the  theme.of  the  ttory. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 

This  is  the  record  of  a  trip  which  the  author  took  with  Buffalo  Jones,  known  as  the 
preserver  of  the  American  bison,  across  the  Arizona  desert  and  of  a  hunt  in  "thac 
wonderful  country  of  deep  canons  and  giant  pines." 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 

A  lovely  girl,  who  has  been  reared  among  Mormons,  learns  to  lore  a  young  New 
Englander.  The  Mormon  religion,  however,  demands  that  the  eirl  shall  become 
the  second  wife  of  one  of  the  Mormons— Well,  that's  the  problem  of  this  great  story- 

THE  SHORT  STOP 

The  young  hero,  tiring  of  his  factory  grind,  starts  oat  to  win  fame  and  fortune  aj 
a  professional  ball  player.  His  hard  knocks  at  the  start  are  followed  by  such  success 
as  clean  sportsmanship,  courage  and  honesty  ought  to  win. 

BETTY  ZANE 

This  story  tells  of  the  bravery  and  heroism  of  Betty,  the  beautiful  young  sister  of 
•Id  Colonel  Zane,  one  of  the  bravest  pioneers. 

THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

After  killing  a  man  in  self  defense,  Buck  Duane  becomes  an  outlaw  along  the 
Texas  border.  In  a  camp  on  the  Mexican  side  of  the  river,  he  finds  a  young  girl  held 
prisoner,  and  in  attempting  to  rescue  her,  brings  down  upon  himself  the  wrath  of  her 
captors  and  henceforth  is  hunted  on  one  side  by  honest  men,  on  the  other  by  outlaws. 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 

Joan  Handle,  in  a  spirit  of  anger,  sent  Jim  Cleve  out  to  a  lawless  Western  mining 
camp,  to  prove  his  mettle.  Then  realizing  that  she  loved  him — she  followed  him  out. 
On  her  way,  she  is  captured  by  a  bandit  band,  and  trouble  begins  when  she  shoots 
Kells,  the  leader — and  nurses  him  to  health  again.  Here  enters  another  romance- 
when  Joan,  disguised  as  an  outlaw,  observes  Jim,  in  the  throes  of  dissipation.  A  gold 
strike,  a  thrilling  robbery— gambling  and  gun  play  carry  you  along  breathlessly. 

THE   LAST  OF  THE  GREAT  SCOUTS. 

By  Helen  Cody  Wetmore  and  Zane  Grey 

The  life  story  of  Colonel  William  F.  Cody,  "  Buffalo  Bill."  as  told  by  his  sister  and 
Zane  Grey.  It  begin*  with  his  boyhood  in  Iowa  and  his  first  encounter  with  an  In* 
dian.  We  see  "  Bill"  as  a  pony  express  rider,  then  near  Fort  Sumter  as  Chief  of 
the  Scouts,  and  later  engaged  in  the  most  dangerous  Indian  campaigns.  There  is 
also  a  very  interesting  account  of  the  travels  of  "The  Wild  West"  Show.  No  char- 
acter In  public  life  makes  a  stronger  appeal  to  the  imagination  of  America  than 
"  Buffalo  Bill,"  whose  daring  and  bravery  made  him  famous. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

MARY  ROBERTS    RINEHART 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.    Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

;  "K."     Illustrated. 

K.  LeMoyne,  famous  surgeon,  drops  out  of  the  world  that 

has  known    him,  and  goes  to  live  in  a  little  town   where 

beautiful  Sidney  Page  lives.    She  is  in  training  to  become  a 

,  nurse.    The  joys  and  troubles  of  their  young  love  are  told 

\  with  that  keen  and  sympathetic  appreciation  which  has 

made  the  author  famous. 

THE  MAN  IN  LOWER  TEN. 
Illustrated  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 

An  absorbing  detective  story  woven  around  the  mj'steri- 
ous  death  of  the  "Man  in  Lower  Ten."  The  strongest 
elements  of  Mrs.  Rinehart's  success  are  found  in  this  book. 

WHEN  A  MAN  MARRIES. 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher  and  Mayo  Bunker. 

A  young  artist,  whose  wife  had  recently  divorced  him, 
finds  that  his  aunt  is  soon  to  visit  him.  The  aunt,  who 
contributes  to  the  family  income  and  who  has  never  seen 
the  wife,  knows  nothing  of  the  domestic  upheaval.  How 
the  young  man  met  the  situation  is  humorously  and  most 
entertainingly  told. 

THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE.     Illus.  by  Lester  Ralph. 

The  summer  occupants  of  "Surmyside"  find  the  dead 
body  of  Arnold  Armstrong,  the  son  of  the  owner,  on  the  cir- 
cular staircase.  Following  the  murder  a  bank  failure  is  an- 
nounced. Around  these  two  events  is  woven  a  plot  of 
absorbing  interest. 

THE  STREET  OF  SEVEN  STARS. 
Illustrated  (Photo  Play  Edition.) 

Harmony  Wells,  studying  in  Vienna  to  be  a  great  vio- 
linist, suddenly  realizes  that  her  money  is  almost  gone.  She 
meets  a  young  ambitious  doctor  who  offers  her  chivalry  and 
sympathy,  and  together  with  world-worn  Dr.  Anna  and 
Jimmie,  the  waif,  they  share  their  love  and  slender  means. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


BOOTH     TARKINGTON'S 
NOVELS 

May  b»  had  wheraver  books  are  sold.     Asklfor  Gross  it  ft  Dunlap's  list 

SEVENTEEN.    lUustrated  by  Arthur  William  Brown. 

No  one  but  the  creator  of  Penrod  could  have  portrayed 
the  immortal  young  people  of  this  story.  Its  humor  is  irre- 
sistible and  reminiscent  of  the  time  when  the  reader  was 
Seventeen. 

PENROD.    lUustrated  by  Gordon  Grant. 

This  is  a  picture  of  a  boy's  heart,  full  of  the  lovable,  hu- 
morous, tragic  things  which  are  locked  secrets  to  most  older 
folks.  It  is  a  finished,  exquisite  work. 

PENROD  AND  SAM.  Illustrated  by  Worth  Brehm. 

Like  "  Penrod "  and  "  Seventeen,"  this  book  contains 
some  remarkable  phases  of  real  boyhood  and  some  of  the  best 
stories  of  juvenile  prankishness  that  have  ever  been  written. 

THE  TURMOIL.    lUustrated  by  C.  E.  Chambers. 

Bibbs  Sheridan  is  a  dreamy,  imaginative  youth,  who  re- 
volts against  his  father's  plans  for  him  to  be  a  servitor  of 
big  business.  The  love  of  a  fine  girl  turns  Bibb's  life  from 
failure  to  success. 

THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  INDIANA.    Frontispiece. 

A  story  of  love  and  politics, — more  especially  a  picture  of 
a  country  editor's  life  in  Indiana,  but  the  charm  of  the  book 
lies  in  the  love  interest. 

THE  FLIRT.    Hlustrated  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 

The  "  Flirt,"  the  younger  of  two  sisters,  breaks  one  girl's 
engagement,  drives  one  man  to  suicide,  causes  the  murder 
of  another,  leads  another  to  lose  his  fortune,  and  in  the  end 
marries  a  stupid  and  unpromising  suitor,  leaving  the  really 
worthy  one  to  marry  her  sister. 

Ask  for  Complete  free  list  of  G.    &  D.    Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


KATHLEEN  NORRIS1   STORIES 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

MOTHER.    Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  book  has  a  fairy-story  touch,  [counterbalanced  by 
the  sturdy  reality  of  struggle,  sacrifice,  and  resulting  peace 
and  power  of  a  mother's  experiences. 

SATURDAY'S  CHILD. 

Frontispiece  by  F.  Graham  Coo  tea. 

Out  on  the  Pacific  coast  a  normal  girl,  obscure  and  lovely, 
makes  a  quest  for  happiness.  She  passes  through  three 
stages — poverty,  wealth  and  service — and  works  out  a 
creditable  salvation. 

THE  RICH  MRS.  BURGOYNE. 
Illustrated  by  Lucius  H.  Hitchcock. 

The  story  [of  a  sensible  woman  who^keeps  within  her 
means,  refuses  to  be  swamped  by  social  engagements,  lives 
a  normal  human  life  of  varied  interests,  and  has  her  own 
romance. 

THE  STORY  OF  JULIA' PAGE. 

Frontispiece  by  Allan  Gilbert. 

How  Julia  Page,  reared  in  rather  unpromising  surround- 
ings, lifted  herself  through  sheer  determination  to  a  higher 
plane  of  life. 

THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL. 

Frontispiece  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 

Rachael  is  called  upon  to  solve  many  problems,  and  in 
working  out  these,  there  is  shown  the  beauty  and  strength 
of  soul  of  one  of  fiction's  most  appealing  characters. 

Ask    for  Complete   free  list  of  G.   &  D.    Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


SEWELL    FORD'S  STORIES 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Brossel  4b  Hunlap'g  list 

SHORTY  McCABE.      Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

A  very  humorous  story,    The  hero,  an  independent  and  vigorous 
thinker,  sees  life,  and  tells  about  it  in  a  very  unconventional  way. 
SIDE-STEPPING  WITH  SHORTY. 
iilust  -ated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

Twenty  skits,    presenting  people  with  their   foibles.     Sympathy* 
with  human  nature  and  an  abounding  sense  of  humor  are  the  requi- 
sites for  "side-stepping  with  Shorty." 
SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB. 
Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

Shorty  McCabe  reappears  with  his  figures  of  speech  revamped 
right  up  to   the   minute.       He  aids  in    the  right  distribution  of  it 
"'conscience   fund,"    and    gives  joy  to   all   concerned. 
SHORTY  McCABE'S  ODD  NUMBERS, 
Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

These  further  chronicles  of  Shorty  McCabe  tell  of  his  studio  for 
physical  culture,  and  of  his  experiences  both  on  the  East  side  and  at 
swell  yachting  parties. 
TORCHY.      Illus,  by  Geo.  Biehm  and  Jas.  Montgomery  Flagg, 

A   red-headed  office  boy,  overflowing   with  wit  and  wisdom  pe- 
culiar to  the  youths  reared  on  the  sidewalks  of  New  York,  tells  the 
story  of  his  experiences. 
TRYING  OUT  TORCHY.     Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln. 

Torchy  is  just  as  deliriously  funny  in  these  stories  as  he  waa  hr 
the  previous  book. 

ON  WITH  TORCHY.      Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln. 

Torchy  falls  desperately  in  love  with  "the  only  girl  that  ever 
was,"  but  that  young  society  woman's  aunt  tries  to  keep  the  young 
peoplft  apart,  which  brings  about  many  hilariously  funny  situations. 
TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC  .  Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln.  , 

Torchy  rises  from  the  position  of  office  boy  to  that  of  secretary* 
tor  the  Corrugated  Iron  Company.    The  story  is  full  of  humor  and. 
infectious  American  slang. 
WILT  THOU  TORCHY.      Illus.  by  F.  Snapp  and  A.  W.  Brown.' 

Torchy  goes  on  a  treasure  search  expedition  to  the  Florida  West 
Coast,  in  company  with  a  group  of  friends  of  the  Corrugated  Trust 
and  with  his  friend's  aunt,  on  which  trip  Torchy  wins  the  aunt's 
permission  to  place  an  engagement  ring  on  Vee's  finger. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,         PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YOBJS 


NOVELS  OF  FRONTIER  LIFE  BY 

WILLIAM  MacLEOD   RAINE 

HANDSOMELY  BOUND  IN  CLOTH.     ILLUSTRATED. 
May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  and  Dunlap's  list 

MAVERICKS. 

A  tale  of  the  western  frontier,  where  the  "rustler,"  whose  dep- 
redations are  so  keenly  resented  by  the  early  settlers  of  the  range, 
abounds.  One  of  the  sweetest  love  stories  ever  told. 

A  TEXAS  RANGER. 

How  ar'member  of  the  most  dauntless  border  police  force  carried 
law  into  the  mesquit,  saved  the  life  of  an  innocent  man  after  a  series 
of  thrilling  adventures,  followed  a  fugitive  to  Wyoming,  and  then 
passed  through  deadly  peril  to  ultimate  happiness. 

WYOMING. 

In  this  vivid  story  of  the  outdoor  West  the  author  has  captured 
the  breezy  charm  of  "cattleland,"  and  brings  out  the  turbid  life  of 
the  frontier  with  all  its  engaging  dash  and  vigor. 

RIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  the.  mining  centers  of  Montana,  where  poli- 
tics and  mining  industries  are  the  religion  of  the  country.  The 
political  contest,  the  love  scene,  and  the  fine  character  drawing  give 
this  story  great  strength  and  charm.  - 

BUCKY  O'CONNOR, 

'  Every  chapter  teems  with  "wholesome,  stirring  adventures,  re- 
plete with  the  dashing  spirit  of  the  border,  told  with  dramatic  dash 
and  absorbing  fascination  of  style  and  plot. 

CROOKED  TRAILS  AND  STRAIGHT. 

A  story  of  Arizona;  of  swift-riding  men  and  daring  outlaws;  of 
a  bitter  feud  between  cattle-men  and  sheep-herders.     The  heroine 
is  a  most  unusual  woman  and  her  love  story  reaches  a  culmination. 
.  that  is  fittingly  characteristic  of  the  great  free  West. 

BRAND  BLOTTERS. 

A  story  of  the  Cattle  Range.  This  story  brings  out  the  turbid 
life  of  the  frontier,  with  all  its  engaging  dash  and  vigor,  with  a  charm- 
.  ing  love  interest  running  through  its  320  pages. 

i 

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